Verse 2



That there are images in this evening

That are worth etching into the mind,


Depends upon your smile,

And your voice of welcome.

The swirling colors of the horizon,

Pink and orange and violet haze,

And golden rays of yellow,

They either laugh and rejoice with me,

Or jeer in persecution,

And the cooling breeze that ruffle the grass

Either sway in unison to my floating cadence,

Or whisper taunts and leering insults to my ear.

Strange, and childish, you might say,

But with all the maturity of the mind,

One always rediscovers

How the heart always remains a child.

And oh, the perfume of the night wind!

My heart has chosen you

To be young for.



12/13/05 — 11:50 am


you know who you are

you know who you are, to whom this is dedicated.  you entered my life without knowing how, or why, only that you knew you had to be there, in that place where i found you, although you never had any knowledge about who you would meet, or how, or why.

you know who you are, to whom this is dedicated.  you never expected to crash into my life, to crash into me, and you never intended to catch me within the ripples of your influence.  indeed, you only made a choice to be where you were, and i likewise simply chose to be there, and there we met.  serendipity? coincidence? fate?

you know who you are, to whom this is dedicated.  your existence was never disbelieved by me, for there was nothing to disbelieve prior to that moment, when the lines of our visions intersected and i came upon photons that drew the image of your smile upon my mind, and even deeper, searing the information in a storage that can never be deleted, in a display of engineering prowess that can never be replicated artificially by man.  that smile, that lingering sadness and searching in those eyes, eyes that passed through me uncomprehendingly, unknown, all of these indelible now, and having them, i am never the same again.

you know who you are, to whom this is dedicated.  what is the concept of distance that it should matter? what is the concept of time that it should trouble me so?  and what is failure and loss that i must fear it?  the knowledge of you makes everything else pale in comparison, and the tiniest flicker of that spark ignited in my unbiological soul is a fire so magnified it dwarfs the collected pain that the world can bear to inflict upon me.  nothing, not even the whole universe, can compare nor contrast, nor even begin to.

you know who you are, to whom this is dedicated.  you came and, like an electron observed, i was never the same again. you have troubled me in ways that have made me forget everything i was before.  you have diffracted my life in ways that will ripple even unto the ends of the infinite plurals of eternity.  you have shattered my dreams of idealistic impossibles and replaced them with an everyday reality of certain uncertainties. and yet, even among this discordant chaos, a semblance of music is composing itself, more beautiful than all imaginings, more sublime than all faith, and i would not have it any other way.

you know who you are, to whom this is dedicated.  that i do not name you is not a relevant quark in this infinite vat of subatomic interactions that glue us together. for what is a name, and what is in it, when it shall not be the identity that you shall bear in commingling with the suns of the vast expanse of the halls of forever? that you are you, and that i know you among the unnumbered illions of jewels among the sky, is enough for me to be joyful and content.  for i shall know your truest name that day, and with that name i shall call you, and i shall rainbow the skies with that sweetest of titles.

you know who you are, to whom this is dedicated.  i apologize that i cannot promise the absence of tears, nor the total annihilation of pain.  for from the most searing of pains, and from the most bitter of tears, come the sublimest of joys, and the purest of laughters.  only this i shall promise, to you, who for me is the most precious in all this universe and in all its replicae: the highest of all happiness, the pinnacle of olympus, and the taste of ambrosia upon your tear-streaked lips.

you know who you are, to whom this is dedicated.  with the utmost tenderness of this battered excuse of existence, i offer my hand to yours, that i may have the privilege of showing you the tapestry of colors that you have woven upon my soul, never to be taken away from me, and solely mine to give away.

i offer this to you, and only to you, to whom this is dedicated. you know who you are.

i miss you

simply and with no frills,
i miss your smile, your laughter, and your twinkling eyes,

i miss your voice that reminds me of rillsong and brooks, of spring water sweet and cold and refreshing.

i miss your presence, the poise and grace that tell the world loudly,

in silence,

that here is royalty, here is the testimony that angels exist, and live, and are without wings.

i miss the stare that you give me, deep, penetrating, probing, wanting to know; the stare that makes me want to be better, to be the paladin that can be worthy to stand beside you.

i miss the he who i become when i am with you, the he who is the better and the best; in your presence i am cleansed, i am purged, and i am strengthened; by your side i am given a vision of celestiality, and i am made to believe i, too, can be among those who are there.

but in the end, simply, and with no frills, i miss you.

and in the silence, in the presence of absent tulips that color me with song, i yearn, knowing that, simply, and with no frills, i HAVE grown to love this princess of song and smile.

oh, what i would give to be worthy of your trust and love and companionship!

guerdon’s rest

ah, so you have found this place.
take a seat, don’t be shy.
sorry if all i can offer are boulders and gravel.
but the view here is magnificent.
it was a long climb to get here, you must be tired.
my own feet are still chapped and bleeding,
but it was worth it.
i don’t mind the company,
such a view as this is better shared;
don’t mind my feet,
they will heal.
see the setting sun,
how it turns more golden as it drops;
the sea from here is visible, too,
like a silken sheet rippling with the wind,
and the wispy clouds like thin curtains
slashed by sunbursts
are majestic to see, as well.
yes, i know,
it took my breath away, too,
the first i saw it,
all the pain was washed away in that single instant.
and feel that breeze?
later on, it will gust for a while,
scattering the leaves of that single molave tree,
but it will cradle you asleep in the evenings,
like a lullabye,
and the rocks provide enough warmth and shade
in the nights;
the moon is bright here, and the stars,
and many times i lie awake
just counting the streaks of light,
racing them with my wishes,
and so far, i have managed to complete one.
you want to know what it was i wished for?
you make me smile;
what led you here, anyway,
if not my footprints tracked in blood?
the evening is coming,
see how the colors race against each other.
i love how the last rays of the sun
shoot out like spears trying to conquer
the inevitable victory of moon and stars.
yes, it is quiet here,
except for the music of the wind,
and the faraway screech of a lone hawk,
and sometimes a sparrow or two.
oh, i’ve been here several lifetimes;
yes, raise your eyebrows if you wish.
i am glad you made it here at last,
by the way,
have i told you?
did you know i came here to be alone?
but i have found out,
it gets lonely sometimes,
being alone,
even among the splendor of beauty
and the universe unfolding above you,
it is always better to know beauty
and have someone to share it with…

and after a while you wish for it….

i am glad you chose to visit me,
you may stay, if you like.

if i compose

if i compose myself into a song,
would you sing me?
would you take me for your lullaby,
and for the song of your joy,
the song of your heart?

if i compose myself into a poem,
would you recite me?
would you make me your ballad
and the ode of your soul,
the epic of your life?

if i compose myself into a tear,
would you shed me?
would you claim me for your sorrows,
and weep me for your grief,
the crystal streaks on your cheek?

if i compose myself into a dream,
would you visit me?
would you value the moon over the sun,
and the pull of sleep over the waking hours,
so that you could be with me?

what then,
if i cannot compose myself?
if all i can be is a man,
and all i could give is my love,
what then?

would you compose me?

if i must say goodnight

i breathed upon your sleeping face,
coming through your windows
to stir you awake at the violet of dawn,

i could not help being around you,
as you go around your morning tasks,
i enjoy playing with your hair,
tossing it so you would notice,
until in consternation you tie
a bonnet and a sash around your head;

you take a break and a seat under the shade;
i notice you would always bring out a piece of cloth
to wipe the sweat and tiredness from your face,
and i am there before you know it,
cooling you from the heat of sun,
breathing back refreshment to your eyes,
and seeing you smile is my compensation.

twilight, and afternoons;
always you take the setting of the sun
as if a personal reproach,
the sombreness would wrap a shroud of silence
that you cloak, and sometimes, you even offer
an oblation of tears;
i would try to blow you a kiss,
and whisper of the beauty of stars
to bring you out of your melancholy,
until you do look up and sigh,
and i see you have accepted
that the night has come but will not stay.

sometimes, you would even notice me,
and you would call me various names–
breeze, wind, or sessery, or gale,
as if such terms were necessary,
but really,
i am simply who i am,
nameless and faceless,
taken for granted in the noise of your life.

so i will breathe a last caress
upon the linens of your sleep,
and you would not notice when i leave,
caught as you would be in your dreams;
as always,
i will not leave a hint
if i must say goodnight.

i do not know you

i do not know you.
the rain could always hide you,
and the mists keep you blanketed away.
once i saw you through the skeins
of silk that wrap you,
that night when you looked at the stars
and mirrorred their beauty,
and their cold, cold distance
like a longing to break free.
you saw me staring and dove
right back into your pool,
your own wet fortress
that keeps onlookers at bay.
countless times i’ve knocked,
even pounded at your souldoor,
i have wearied my hands,
used words, jokes, pleadings,
anything i could to bring you out,
and you only watched me
from your ivory tower,
distant, unnerving.
i do not know you,
you are an alabaster she,
defying the world with eyes
that screamed curtains,
and feet stepping so stately
they cannot hide your fear.
you came to me one day
and almost vounteered
to unmask and unclothe before me,
only you held back
at the last instant…
ah, am i that menacing?
is it perhaps that you remember
past ghosts that haunt you still?
i do not know you,
not yet, quiet banshee,but i have seen enough
with my spirit to be sure
that here is a pearl
i would throw away life for
just to gain.