where I wanna be

Running in the morning,
a date in the evening.

Off reading another book,
wanting to be amazed beyond text and title.

Ink down another poem,
expressing emotions and scenes that appear.

See the world through the glass,
steal it away for a memory keepsake.

Catch a show on screen,
attention on the film and the one beside me.

Be on bed,
without staring at ceilings as the clock strikes late.

Weekends to be filled,
where your heart longs to be and feels good.


That's where I wanna be.

the hard, harder and hardest

Back after a long day,
what's hard is not work
but having to deal with yourself today,
facing your inflicted failure
and the flaws that took you here.

The harder part is knowing,
that you cheated yourself
saying that you been away toiling,
while you seek out holes and hide
hoping to be out of sight.

The hardest comes when,
you can't deny that you would never
settle for just taking an average man,
despite clipping your wings
and tell yourself you can never soar free.

This is casting random thoughts.

This is worse than bad today,
I need food to fuel my inners,
Curb its grumbles
And just to feel a little better.

Can someone fill my tank?
I'm almost all out
Like a doomed man
Left there hanging.

Couples sharing a moment
Lips to lips,
Parent and child together
Hand in hand.

Secret messages,
All in whispers,
The glimpse that was given,
Meant a thousand words.

Long for some contact,
Touch to the skin,
The air that surrounds
Makes me feel no heat.

Strike words to a friend today,
Guilty i should be,
To blame the bolt of negativity
That struck me so deep.

Now a convict off scot-free
Lament at his actions,
Spending his time wishing
All can be washed clean.

And ask me not to join in
The wilderness clan,
That direction hasn't been lost
Merely buried deep.

If there's one who's lost,
Then you are the one,
Seeking the presence of a body
To give you strength over the meek.

Tables around me
Full of chatter and smiles,
The seats by my side,
Lie empty and silent.

Was it consciousness
Or they got louder
Amplify the voices
From absent companions.

Gave in today
To a much lost craving
Of food that always seem
Much less deserving.

All in hope
That it will give
Some chance of joy
And lighten off this feeling.

Worked less than perfect,
Though it help raised
My hunger
From the state of poverty.

Music is drowning
Had i stopped listening
Like how i cease loving
The world i'm living.

Good Morning Sunday

From the waking up
to the breakfast in the kitchen,
this is a sunday
I have never really knew.

On my favorite seat,
basking in sunshine flooding in.
Music from the headphones,
Makes everything seem so at east.

A peek into my drawer,
half open as a stand for my elbow,
I observed amidst the mess,
my red colored birthday card.

This corner of a one meter square,
a little sanctuary out of mess and chaos
where I am most at home,
while I am home.

Let this last a while more,
the sunshine through the window,
the ease that I am feeling
and the morning before time strikes twelve.

The Locked Out

Armed with a key
but no entry.

Hours getting late,
I'm standing out here,
tired and reek of sweat.

Stood staring,
decided on leaving.

A walk down the pavement,
on the search for a spot
to rest and pass the hours.

Music over radio and cups of tea
makes hours bearable in minutes.

Survival on what little strength,
as my mental concentration dwindle
like battery of my computer and phone.

I'm done and wonder what I'm doing,
when the sun is up and those that follow after.

Does it end up a cycle,
seeing me in circles,
failing to find the end of the line.

Do not ask me to explain,
I'll fix it if there's a problem.

Its just not my style
and certainly not when I know
what is said will not matter.

Tearing off this roof tile by tile,
embrace the sun and weather.

I made what I have the necessities,
thrown out the missing stuffs entirely,
and what I got now is just a shelter.

This is not the way to lead a life,
gotta follow and trust your presume right.

Unfortunately this presume right,
are like reflections of your mirror,
sighted as left in your view.

Last Stand - Part 1

He maintain his stance,
Withstooding another strike,
But for how long more could he,
When you see his trembling limbs
And sore bloodied hands.

There was no intention
Of dropping his arms
But neither can he find strength
To make another swing of the sword,
Blunt and rusted to the hilt.

His limbs cry to him
And his mind wavering,
Facing the thought of defeat,
With each weakening breathe
Doused by the scorching wind.

good post.bad.

I could so much hate
the days I get
a much better writing
on my desk.

That the better post
are often companions
of gloom
and bad days.

Consider it
consolidation
to dark,
brooding hours.


Lest they turn around
and decide
to stay awhile
longer than you wanted.


So long the poet stays
sane with chiseled words
you can wonder
whether he is doing good.