A Poet’s Sanctuary

A poet makes a meaning out of words
And words out of her meaning
Express as to inspire
Inspire as to express
Till it makes sense to someone
Till it makes sense to the rest

Read not only between the lines
Learn to read her mind
The things written to tell a story
Are feelings she chose to hide
Who else would try to know them?
Who else but those who try

Fondle with her ignorance
Unless the little things she’s known
The curious mind she has right now
In poetry are shown
In ways she understood well
But only she understood alone

If words have life to speak for itself
Poetry would be of no use
Because a sanctuary is a place amidst the known
And the known she had to refuse
Irony of hiding something
To find it in gray scale hues

Advertisements

Pieces of Thoughts

Close your eyes, young girl
The world would never hear your thoughts
For whatever movement your lips are making
Will always be for nought
Chase the wolf that stole your innocence
Hunt the dragon that imprisoned you in a castle
Survive the army of thousand men
And never return until you win the battle
Did you hear the clock ticking?
Perhaps you never really ran out of time
Pause for awhile and create forever
In a wild imagination of minds
Are my thoughts really excuses?
Am I but a weak representation of the society?
But, little girl, I know you’re not
You close your eyes again and forget reality
Hey, wait a minute. I’ve been here before
It’s called total darkness and despair
In a colourful world of creation
In a scripted disarray
Take a deep breath and let it go
Let it all consume you and never be afraid
For you would learn to embrace them properly soon
And slowly, slowly, they would start to fade
Are you running away from them?
But the world is round, aye?
Now, am I not aiming for its back?
It’s cowardice, I know, but hey
I’m listening, I hear you
But your words are not really what I need
Maybe, for once, it will help
If I start the listening within me
So here is my honesty
Here is my reality
Wrapped in a fantasy
Within ambiguity
Here’s the witch so play the act
Bite the apple of suffering and pain
I’m counting, yes, I am
Not what I lost but what remains
And with this, I open my eyes with gratitude
I realized so much with this loneliness
The little strength that kept me going
Was my faith to an unseen Highness
“They will return, my child”
“Trust me with all your heart”
“If they don’t understand you now,
they’ll understand when you’re apart”
Here are my thoughts
Here’s my mess
I’ll get through this, I know
Through this beautiful sadness

Month-Old to Year-Old. A Child To Cherish And To Hold.

“Ugh. I have a bad feeling about this case, George.”

Payton steered the wheel to make a left turn. “Shit, man. I’m gonna have nightmares after watching the thing.”

I would too. The CCTV camera in the Dennings’ backyard caught six-year-old Jessica last night hovering mid-air. Hovering. At first, her back was facing the camera. Then her head turned. 180 degrees. But her body didn’t move. Only her head. There was no audio but you can see in her face that she was in agony. Then she started moving away, still hovering. Her head still turned to the camera. Her mouth still seemingly screaming out of pain.

“Do you think we’ll find her there? I don’t even think she’s still alive.”

I didn’t think either. The parents too. I asked Payton what he thought about them. He shook his head.

“They sound crazy they might even be our suspects.”

Mrs. Dennings was red-eyed this morning when she opened the door for us. She must have been crying after watching the CCTV footage. She told us that Jessica was their only child and before she was born, they’ve been trying to have a child for thirteen years. I empathized with her.

“Can you believe what that woman said to us? She said she regretted giving birth to the girl! What the actual fuck! They’ve been trying to have children and when this happened, they regret it. Irresponsible. You know? I bet they edited the video to get away with murder.”

Mr. Dennings joined us shortly after Mrs. Dennings shared her regret. He told us that they think their daughter is dead and they simply want her body back to give her a proper funeral. Mrs. Dennings murmured something in which her husband said,

It’s not like they didn’t warn us.

I asked him what he meant but he looked away, unwilling to answer. Mrs. Dennings, however, responded to the question.

“Who would believe their story? Aborted children get second chance? It’s ridiculous. Just.. fucking ridiculous.” Payton shook his head again.

Mrs. Dennings’ testimony was indeed ridiculous. She told us that they found a temple of ‘monks’ up north who claimed that they could help Mrs. Dennings give birth. They needed only an aborted fetus. She said it was a peculiar request but she was desperate so she stole one from an abortion clinic. Two months later, the test showed she’s expecting.

Payton pulled over. “Wow. How do you know? A temple does exist here. It looks abandoned though. You think they ac-“

I hushed Payton. The radio was getting something. At first it was static, then..

…someone’s…. here..

Payton looked at me.

… ahh.. Je.. they’re… here… for Jessica…

I opened the car door and got out, hand on my pistol. I shouted a warning. No response. There was only static on the radio. Payton got out of the car too and we slowly entered the temple. There was a foul smell coming from the inside.

“Fuck! What the fuck is that! That’s.. fuck.. I’m gonna throw up.”

On the floor were what seemed like mangled body parts of a small human being. The blue dress Jessica was wearing on the CCTV was torn to pieces, covered with crimson red.

Forensics identified the parts belonged to Jessica Dennings. Her body was most likely torn with medical scissors. The Dennings were questioned afterwards. There were no monks, not a single soul in the abandoned temple or nearby places.

Payton and I were dismissed that night. “Fuck, I hope I didn’t get Risa pregnant. That last transmission was flat-out scary.”

It was. It really was. Back in the temple, after requesting back-up to gather the remains, the radio started acting up again.

…look… it’s.. the.. father of.. the next… one…

I went home after drinking a couple of beers with Payton. My wife Karen was waiting for me in the living room. Her face was painted with joy as she showed me the white tube with two red marks on it.


 

I apologize for the crude language. It was necessary to establish Payton’s character. This won’t be the last you’ll hear from him.

If you’re confused about the story, read the title again and I hope you’ll get the connection.

Hope you enjoyed this story!

That Causes Wonder

It starts with a pause
A glitter in one’s eyes
Wonders around us
Take us to the best of our lives

But I rather see your smiling face
After looking through such sight
It won’t stay long, I know
But so is your delight

A smile from a stranger’s lips
A hi from a friend’s words
Small things will not matter now
But without them, big things also won’t

Take me to where you find happiness
‘Cause everyone else would go there soon
But I’d stay here now, beside you
Like the earth’s revolving moon

I would want to take your hand
But I’d also want to keep it distant
I want to see you fly
And be there to catch you when you land

How much happiness? That, I don’t know
As long as I’m happy, I won’t have to weigh or measure
‘Cause who would take the time to count
Once you find your greatest treasure?

Look further
Look closer
Everywhere is a mystery
Waiting to be discovered

Dream no matter
Reach out higher
Everyone is alone now
If he doesn’t wander

A Dream of When I Was a Lighthouse

I once dreamt that I was a lighthouse
But in the dream I didn’t think I was
In my rigid stature, I imagined myself
As a star that shines till dawn from dusk

In my dream I fell for a human being
I guided his path as he walked along the shore
He was always a few meters away from me
But in that distance I grew to love him more

But he always looked up in the night sky
I was never the star he wanted to watch
He thanked God for the light they bring in the dark
But never for the light I have

That’s when I realized I was never a star
That’s when I realized he would never see me as such
But still I guided his way to the beach
So he could see the stars he adores so much

When I accepted the truth that I wasn’t his star
I shone my light to the open sea
I knew that even if I look away from him
His stars would guide him for me

Then slowly I noticed as I face the raging sea
I became the light that sailors in the night needed
They knew I wasn’t a star that shines brightly
But they’d look up for me to be guided

So I woke up from my dream and thought
I don’t have to be the person people would adore
I just have to be adored by people who could see me
And be with people who need me more


 

I made this poem for someone I loved dearly. For a moment, I thought I’d be happy with him but he could never see me as me. After a while, I decided that I can’t keep up with his expectations and left to find people who would accept me as I am.

Dead in Seven Days

The grim reaper, whose eyes I can’t see but I dare not imagine, stood on my bed side.

“You’re telling me that I get seven days to live? Why do I get to know when I will die? Is this some sort of a special privilege?” I asked, a little vexed.

The dark figure only stood in silence. I clenched my fist in anger, blood rising through my IV tube.

“You might as well kill me now! What difference would it make if I die today or a week after?!”

The figure spoke in a deathly whisper, “Live in seven days,” and disappeared into ghastly smoke.

Live? What do I do with seven days?! There’s nothing left for me. It’s better to be dead.

I hastily pulled the tube from my arm and walked to the nearest window. Seventeen floors.

I dare you Death!

I jumped out of the window and as I was free falling to my anticipated death, a truck of styroballs parked in my supposed landing area.

The next day, I stole the nurse’s scissors and slit my throat. I woke up in the intensive care unit, my hands and legs bond.

Five days before my presumed end, I tried biting my tongue off to bleed to death. The nurse caught wind of my intention and my mouth got restrained.

Four days. I stopped my breathing. How idiotic of me. I’m in the hospital. Of course the alarm would go off.

Three days. I asked the nurse for a phone, lying that I would call my mom. I hired a killer.

Two days. I waited for my death-bringer. The hospital was thrown into chaos. A wanted criminal entered the premise, about to open my door.

One day left and I stared at the ceiling, feeling lost. The days have gone by after I challenged Death with his due date.

You win, Death.

On my supposed last day, I was counting the seconds pass by when somebody opened the door. She was in a wheelchair, her right arm in a cast and her forehead covered with bandage. She looked at me, tears filling her eyes. Her beautiful face, even though bruised, glowed, and her voice, soft like a whisper, was soothing as always.

“I’m here Jake. It’s alright. I survived the plane crash. You don’t need to die. I’m here.”

My tears ran on my cheeks, down to my pillow, soaking it wet. My mouth was still gagged and I couldn’t tell her I’m sorry.

I’m sorry I thought you died.

I’m sorry I couldn’t imagine living without you.

I’m sorry I tried killing myself.

I’m sorry I bribed the nurse to inject me a lethal dose.

I’m sorry, my love, but the grim reaper is now pointing his scythe on my head.


 

I hope you enjoyed this story. It’s tragic, and it won’t be the only one. As a matter of fact, most of my stories end tragically. I’m not a masochist. I just like the beauty of sad stories because it makes you think of how you live your life.

Regret.

Despair.

Death.

They are realities of life and no matter how much we avoid them, we will always end up meeting them.

Message

Find the message written in someone’s mind
But first, you ask, “Is it worth the time?”
Learn the story behind every word
But first, you doubt, “Do I have to mind?”

Why do you read a story?
To escape the boring one you live?
Is it not for a purpose that maybe
You’ll discover the Author’s plead?

The beauty of having the words that express
Even if it’s not entire but at least the meaning of the message
Is it not through this that we find ourselves
Longing for someone to discover our essence?

The reason why this poem is written is because of the Author
So are the stories you’ve read before and you’ll read after
Now I ask you, where should understanding of the poem come from?
Is it from the reader’s opinion or the Author’s wisdom?

You can say, “Of course I am the one reading to amuse myself of this
So is it not obvious that I read this poem according to what I think?”
Indeed you are free to interpret the message through your own accord
But whether you get the real meaning of it is not really assured

Or you can say, “I am not the one who fixed these words in such a way
Only the One who wrote it can show why in this manner, they are arranged”
And I tell you, in accepting the need of the Author’s guidance
Much more than the mystery of the words’ arrangement is what you’ll understand!

 


One can interpret this poem as me, the writer, telling you, the reader, to understand my message as I understood it rather than understanding it on your own.
However, if you noticed, the word “Author” is capitalized, hinting that this poem can also be interpreted as understanding God’s word as He understood it rather than our own understanding. As Proverbs 3:5 stated, “lean not in your own understanding”.