Poems Vol. 2 2019

Ephemeral

If love is countable by time,

I guess it would be unfair- because I lost count of the time when I’m with you.

We came alone to this world, and will leave this world alone.

What we had was ephemeral, if it must be counted by time.

The light in your eyes, shined like fireworks in the fourth of July,

And I’m like the waves in the sea, washed by the light that shone on me

But the tides will go, and I would be driven back to the pit again.

And one day, when the waves were shone by the lighthouse,

I would think about you.

 

If I Were a Song

If I were a song,

I would ask you to sing along

Keeping this love sealed into it

Along with all of your secrets, your bearings, your burden

I won’t let a soul hear it unless it’s you

And then just let time past by, where all of these yeast and turn into an aged wine.

If I were a song,

I would bring you to your past,

See what kind of person you were- always strong, yet fragile inside

Let you think about the past you’ve been trying to escape from

Embrace you gently and wipe away your sorrows.

You can lie beside me, I will lean by your side-

Just tell me honestly how you feel, how you felt, and just be broken for a while.

We can go wild and run towards to the bright sun, let the heat sweat us, and be fragile again.

I am always your home, and I am always your journey.

 

We pulled away from each other- that feeling is overwhelming and unforgettable

Maybe you should let me go

You know you can always run back home

We exist because of our boundless freedom.

 

I am sealed in a box you rarely open, but I’ll always be here,

Waiting for you to come back, and play this melody again

That’s it, 3 minutes and 48 seconds- a lifetime.

If I were a song,

I’m the song that will always love you

honestly, truly and completely.

 

Years

What’s the point of counting years

when all of these were over and written into pages of our own history.

What do these things between us mean-

when the memories got washed like a spilled bottle of liquid acid.

Calendars are just a reminder of how many months and years we spent; wasting away and holding onto something unrealistic

I’ve grown older, it’s true-

I have fought the battle, fighting with a sword in a gunfight.

I have ran away, traveled without a dime in my pocket, gained some back, and returned home.

I have made bad decisions but those never become regrets.

I have become the prey for those who used their words as a weapon- but snakes and stones don’t break me.

I wear my scars, failures and glories like an armor over my shoulders.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The clock in the living room is ticking, like the sound of fiddling fingers touching the table

I think it is time for me to buy a watch.