there comes a time

there comes a time
when we all learn the art
of letting go…

and when we do,
the pain…

if i run out

if i run out of words
i shall not run out of love,
nor the wherewithal
to express it.

but i shall run out
of life
ere i run out of words,
and besides,
even in the silence
of stares and smiles,
and singular touches of fire,
there lie the universe
of words unvoiced,
deeper in color,
richer in texture,
purer than adam’s tongue.

and so,
i shall run out my life,
from edge of birth
to eternity’s ledge,
from word to word,
from love to love,
endless spirals
of birth and rebirth,
and each cycle
of this eternal progression
likewise purifies
these lines,
these words,
this mirror of my heart
that i polish
for you.

Moving On

Could i but turn around and leave,
Acknowledge nothing of that past i lived,
Surely I will do so; I will change everything I was,
See a new day dawning, forget all yesterdays,
And start afresh. But no, that cannot be;
No life unfinished has that choice, no shell
Dented by bumps and scrapes could scars deny.
Rather, like a tree rebarking everyday,
All days forward must show that I am new.

as summer arrives

the spring has brought you welcome news:
that flowers bloom again,
and that the tulips you once thought
were gone,
are showing themselves in resplendent hues
once more…

the cold has slowly melted away,
and their lingering traces,
those filigrees of ice,
are no more,
and all the white
are swallowed now in greens,
reds and yellows and blues
singing with the birds…

it is now a little easier
taking the short walk
from the porch to the car,
and leaving the house allows you
to bathe in the colors of spring,
and the warmth suffuses you,
giving you some new-found strength
that slept for a season…

you look at the sky,
and see the birds returning
from their long estrangement
of their nests….

they make you smile
as you look forward
for a similar return
of feet tracing their own feet home,
as summer arrives.

empress

the way your presence shouts,
commands the world to pay
obeisance to her imperial
majesty,
compels the undivided awe
of years,
trembles the ground,
you walk in conscious beauty,
unconsciously;
you laugh,
and against all protestations of this
soul,
you clamp the shackles
and seal the binding
of my fall.

bantayan dreams

i could almost taste
the tang of the salty air,
and feel the water’s foamy embrace,
the grit of sand beneath my feet,
and the sun upon my face…

seeing your smile
takes me there, too.

and it’s like
i am feasting my eyes upon the vista,
basking under the same sky,
away from the tumult and the noise,
and i can imagine
gazing at shoals and reefs,
swimming with brightly-colored schools,
and combing the beaches
for seashells, with you.

you have left, though,
and my feet,
they burn against the city street,
and i swim again,
in the ebbs and flows of a harsher ocean,
less salty, but less sweet.

but every night brings me back
your smile and your stories…
and remembering you,
brings me back there, too.

remnants

the smoke still stings
and brings tears
to reddened eyes,
it catches in the throat,
and elicits protesting hacks
from overworked lungs…
the heat clings
the sweat and grime,
commingled, they plaster whatever remnants
of clothes upon your back,
and all around you,
this rain of ash,
this rain of unsnow,
uncold and unwelcome,
dissolving at the touch of fingers,
of tears,
is all that remains
of what once was
a pristine offering
of love.

sonnet 16

what is beauty? it is the hidden heart,
the secret of the self — the soul within;
the side of man which is the better part:
that glow and warmth unhid by earthly skin.

what then is beauty? not the charming face,
for oft the shell reveals a rusty core;
instead, ’tis what these mortal eyes can’t trace,
for ’tis the heart that holds it evermore.

true beauty is first felt before beheld;
it is the hidden grandeur of the soul;
the measurer of greatness of the self:
it sets apart the lorldy from the low.

thus beauty is one’s very own self-worth:
the measure of our value and our growth.

i am

i am.
you cannot undo this soul
that you ignore.

i am.
you cannot unmake my being
with your apathy.

i am.
you can only unlove me
to your regret.

—-
around 1998 (defiance after rejection.. hehe)

this is my dream

that i would watch the sunsets someday,
not alone in my awe,
but with a soft hand clutching mine;

that i would open my eyes to the sun,
knowing that the day’s promise was mine,
because i have you by my side;

that i would look forward to the future
with a smile that shall speak of my courage,
buoyed by your love.

—–

bare, simplistic, raw…. this was written in 1997