wet

with the downpour comes the onslaught of cold–but it only takes me to think of you to keep myself warm.

abandoned film

a piece i wrote in livejournal

she colored the gray with her smile
and he held the world with his face,
everything in the world made sense
all bitter sorrow untraced.
but all those captured frames
remain as undeveloped pictures
–rolls of abandoned film
locked inside my imaginary camera
her world had long been dead
the moment he started a revolution;
we are ashes unclaimed–
waiting to be engulfed by light.

i can’t understand why i just feel so sad today..

bitter exhaustion

i wrote another villanelle this morning, since i was inspired by linebyline. this is deep since it took me longer than i thought to finish. then again, emotions were running high and i had to read and reread as each one fought their way through for a chance to let themselves be known. thankfully, i was able to construct an accurate piece(give or take) that described what i wanted to voice out. hopefully, it will portray my inner longing, and if not, well, the readers have their own interpretation. i take consolation in the fact that at least i was able to produce something and in the process, was able to relieve some parts of me in the recesses of my being.

so without further ado, here’s the poem:

we squandered the years curtailing combustions
having been used to living in shades of gray.
contented to smile in bitter exhaustion

photographs are proof of nature’s transition
but man holds on any tangible remains
and squanders off years to curtail combustions

why do you put out unfamiliar passions?
is religion worth all the tragic delay?
are we content smiling bitter exhaustions?

utter the truth you denied in confusion:
we later become what we ourselves contained
’til squandered years cease to curtail combustions

undisturbed of one’s immobilization
cowering in fear the feeble blind now claims
contentment, smiling with bitter exhaustion

sometimes we rot from too much regulation,
why draw lines which evolution will erase?
who can squander years curtailing combustions?
how content are smiles of bitter exhaustion?

villanelle: shadows

can longing erode believers,
because the absence is prolonged?
the web of dust motes sweep corners;

do emotions drive souls to song?
while rain softly pitter patters,
your absence still remain prolonged.

why does each year past take longer
to retract moments left undone?
the web of dust motes sweep corners.

don’t keep on waiting, move along
echoes of crawling hands linger,
louder, as absence is prolonged.

don’t we all come home to cancer,
blurring faith, what’s right and what’s wrong
so web of dust motes sweep corners?

what have you done after so long?
and all that’s left is a whisper.
my absence drags on, prolonged
the web of dust motes seep corners.