The sun has peaked through the thick dark clouds,
and the gloom that permeated the land gently lifted.
The soft warmth gave hope and apprehension for the future.

And when the clouds darkned the sun yet again,
and so was teh warm feeling that it had evoked,
leaving behind that chilling cold that permeated the air.

There lies a frog on the wall
I thought it was an ugly ball
It did not croaked, it did not moved
I found out later it was made of wood.

The dusty motes were made witness of such spectacle.

Those thick clouds near the horizon veiled the sun and its glory

but shafts of light trickled through and beamed on the earth below.

Its like a glimpse of heaven.

A beauty in its majestic simplicity.

The feeling of knowing something and longing for it.

Yearning to experience what might have been, or what
you've just dreamt.
Is one alone in search for something that does not exist,
or might had been in one's memories, or maybe in a dream?
That feeling that you knew but cannot explain or remember, or
express; so fleeting and evasive...

And only half-remembered like a dream. It is that feeling.

The brotherhood of lies lay
unbidden
and the agony of truth was carefully
hidden.
O save me from this soot!
cried the crippled angel.

My mind has been dry lately.

Having a pen and staring down dumbly at a clean sheet of paper,
my pen poised to scribble the words that would never come.

I would sigh and hold my head in frustration.

I have writer's block.

Loving more than one person is a symptom of generosity.
Acting on it is the mark of bravery.
Being able to pull it off is a sign of creativity.
Not hurting anyone is the index of compassion.
Generosity plus bravery plus creativity plus compassion add up to gallantry.
To be gallant is to rise above other men and to be a hero for those other men to follow.
-from vagabonds of love

--

i hate the weather...been raining on and off for a week.

It's the way the light cast its shadow to sculpt the soft edges of your face,
when the sunlight is as soft as cotton, delicate as the earliest of the mornings,
or the latest of the afternoons.

It's how the light sift through the curtained window, through that gentle white fabric
so thin it's like the mist.

It's the way the soft cool breeze makes the warmth of the sun so pleasing.

It's the way it made my heart skip when you give me that smile so sweet and warm
like the gentle sun.

--

I feel that the poem doesn't end well...is it lacking? Oh well, i'll revise it if ever the mood strikes me.

Everything was silent and dark.
All I can hear was the constant ticking of the clock
crescendoing with the hum of the A/C.

At a distance I can hear dogs barking and roosters crowing
back and forth.

A light lit up the darkened room from the small
screen of the monitor,

and the constant tapping and clicking of the keyboard
and mouse blended with the all familiar din.

It all came back to me....

In a place where I found light and sunshine...

I lay on the sylvan grass and awaited winter,
when everything becomes glaring white...

A stark contrast to my soul.

There were a lot of things one has done that were wrong. If one could turn back time and try to set them right, does one have the strength to do so? Or will one commit the same mistakes again?

I woke up in my dream
in a simple but beautiful house made of nipa and bamboo,
on a soft and warm bed with a mosquito net,
beside a woman i knew.

I went out to look for the others
I know was there with us.
I found them on the beach, talking
and laughing, sitting on a log that
has been washed ashore,
hoping it would not rain in that gray windy day.

--

How many dreams have you had where you woke up in your dream? I mean seriously, that almost is like a nightmare or something...

She stuck out her tongue
and offered her soft hand.
I was entranced as her eyes captured mine,
trapping me with her mysterious naughty smile.

And so, sadness filled my heart.
For this gem can never be mine.

As I withdrew my hand from hers reluctantly,
I complimented how lovely the
platinum ring looked on her.

I saw it glistening and wet
at a slope of a hill,
alone amidst the grasses
and the shadows. Even
it was cold and raining
I was entranced. Even
as I avert my eyes they
kept coming back to it.

The sparkling leaves
and the strange bent,
the most comfortable position it
seem to be in, draws my soul
back again and again. Like a siren
it lured me into a most comfortable
peaceful feeling.

I remember my mother's yellow bells
a happy yellow flower whose scent
I have forgotten.
But my mind knew that I love
its scent.
The yellow bells that seemed to bloom
on the summers,
gives off a warm scented sweet smell.
I could still imagine myself standing
in th sun, in front of my mother's
yellow bells, downwind... trying to
be in the path of the yellow bell's
beautifully scented smile.

You're smarter than that
she told me incessantly
preaching to a wall,
at something darker than black
In drunken haze and so brazenly
All of it makes no sense to me.

Clips and riddles are what you gave;
We are in stupor.
As much as you are you don't know much.

Running away in fear...
playing with people you can play.

You're smarter than that...
when was it stupid to improve one's self?

You are invariably lost. Lost deep within
your self, lost deep in the urban jungle
of false hopes and promises, never to be found again.

You screamed abuse were drowned by the constant
buzz of the city...never to be heard, never acknowledged.

You are alone. Perpetually seeking the unknown.
A wanderer in a strange but familiar grounds.

You are a lost soul, silent and unseen.

Sleeping on top of me [literally]
telling me how warm I am
with your hands seeking
the most comfortable places.

I can almost laugh at
the absurdity of the situation.
But I let it be [because]
I was as comforted as you were.

And he learned of her fate.
A slave. A bondage of debt.
Is it love or pity? What fate
awaits
the lone wolf and the prostitute?