the ghost of summers past

and so he comes,
the ghost of summers past
the years forgotten, ringing hollow
those which you wasted all in sorrow

speaking, asking, demanding
a question, you have no answer
thus you beg for a forgiveness
oh but time is a silent witness

please, i tried, you scream
it echoes in his dark eyes
a reason you try formulating
even to you it was not convincing

slowly you begin to remember
the dreams he wanted fulfilled
the stories he hoped you'd write
wishes he prayed for every night

and so he comes,
a child you wish you knew
but you've failed, you know at last,
him, the ghost of summers past


[inspired by my friend's 18th birthday and her depression about getting older]

like them, inside

i wish i hadn't found that wooden door
i wish i hadn't seen the light at the end
i wish i hadn't walked over the fence
and i wish i hadn't tasted the free land

i wish i hadn't left
i wish i had just stayed, inside
i wish i could be one of them

if only i could follow the path set for me
if only i could ignore that wooden door
if only i could be satisfied
and if only i didn't want anything more

if only i didn't leave
if only i had just stayed, inside
i could be one of them

i should have kept my eyes closed
i should have climbed back over
i should have lived the life i should
and i shouldn't have known of any other

i should have never left
i should have just stayed, inside
then i will be one of them

inside, happy, not wanting any better
it's funny the saying i didn't believe
oh but now i know, a little too late
ignorance is fucking bliss.


[just me whining about the curses of having led an easy life, and when now it gets all difficult]

happy birthday, dad

alone we were to fall
lost in the winds, trapped in the shadows
but when your hands grasped ours
your smile promises us of life once more


[a short verse i wrote for my dad for his 50th birthday, inspired by something my friend matt wrote to me once]

the wasted years

what am i doing here?
in the facades of spoken words
in the perpetual emotional confinement
believing in nothing worth believing
tradition for the sake of tradition
and all the emptiness within it
wishing a freedom that never comes
till the time for me to leave
only to return tomorrow and forever
to ask myself
what am i doing here?


[just complaining about smansa again]

post mortem

just because you wiped them away
doesn't mean those tears never came out
no matter how hard you hide
you were still vulnerable

just because you've grown up
doesn't mean those memories didn't happen
no matter how hard you want
you will never relive them

just because you walk away
doesn't mean the regret will
no matter how hard you blame the world
you are still the one guilty

just because you don't believe in it
doesn't mean it didn't happen
no matter how hard you pray
he was still not invincible

and neither are you

the job i no longer want

sure you can write whatever you want, dear!

she says as she looks down at the pile of papers, searching, scanning.

who?
the government?
oh please we got rid of those bastards' power a long time ago!
you don't seriously think they're the one controlling now, do you?
it's us!
it's all us!

she scans still, now with a maniacal shadow behind the horn-rimmed glasses.

what?
the people?
you actually care about what those imbeciles think?
they don't care!
they shouldn't care!
they can't care!

she laughs a mocking high-pitched snicker, drowning out the copying machine.

sorry?
no, not even the minorities.
heck, the minorities are what makes this business run!
people don't want to read integration, tolerance, reconciliation!
please, what's the fun in that!
and it's our job to feed their craving heads with this junk.

she shifts through the paper, the huge ruby shimmering in between pages.

beg your pardon?
lying?
no, this isn't lying, dear!
this is just our version!
the version the people need!
the free speech we reserve!

she finally lifts those hazel eyes to judge me, piercing through the golden locks.

why?
oh you naive little girl!
because we control it.
we control everything.
and we control because we can!

she frowns, bright orange acrylic nails tapping on the paper-strewn desk.

you know what, i'm beginning to think you're not right for this job.
we don't need honest, world peace making, tree hugging activists!
you think this is about making your voice heard?
that joke is over, dear!

she stands up from the leather executive chair, stilettos enhancing her menacing height.

you want a tip?
come back a century ago!
you can leave the way you came.
oh, and thank your suited-up, puffed necked united nations geniuses on your way out!

she says as she smirked those fuchsia lips.


[inspired by my ranting on freedom of speech with tammie]

the cursed

i am the cursed one.

for i never see the flowers bloom
i never touch the morning mist
i never hear the songbird's tale
i never feel the sunrise warmth..

i am the cursed one.

for i know what i am feeling
but not why that is so
or what to do to fix it
or whether it is even earthly..

i am the cursed one.

for i see where i am now
and look back and am able to smile
or look forward and see the light
and yet..

i am unable to see the flowers bloom
or touch the morning mist
or hear the songbird's tale
or feel the warmth, the warmth of the blessings in life..

i am the cursed one.

we are the cursed ones.


[inspired by.. well.. feeling just that!]