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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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Winter Walk



I scream out your name on top
of the Eiffel Tower, hoping that
my voice will reach out to you.
I come back to Paris each year, just to do that.
Afterward, I take a stroll down
the same street,
the same alleyway,
the same route,
that we have walked last time
we were here on vacation.
I thought I could run into you by chance.
But during the stroll,
I can’t help but to notice
how much of the scenery have changed.
I wonder
how many years have Paris aged?
How many seasons have passed her by?
Does she even know
that it is Winter right now, waiting for Spring.
I thought it is kind of ironic,
how I can see you everyday in my dream,
but I can only meet you once a year,
every time I pass by your grave,
while wandering up and down these street.


Sakura



It was not that long of a train ride,
but the scenery on the other side of the window
moving by in a slow motion
made the ride longer than it need to be.

The way the city lights flicker
from window to window,
as if I am watching a montage of my life.
Each panel, one after another
show me a memory I had with you.
These images seem like a still picture
out of some scrapbook,
or a cheezy line from a poem
out of a letter, which I wish
I had given it to you years ago.

It is not that sad,
sitting here watching the train entering and departing
from station to station.
The petals of the cherry blossom outside
seem like a pink snow flake falling in Spring,
serving a reminder
that there is still a hint of Winter
remain in my heart.


Young Love



When two hearts meet, they sing and dance.
They watch the clouds that come and went.

They sit and watch the bumble bees.
They sing along their symphony.

They stroll along the rosy field.
They laugh as they roll down the hill.

They follow where the bobcat goes.
Into a dream where no one know.

They listen to the water fall.
The two hearts beat the lion roar.

The two hearts play with river's reed.
They hold hand til they fall asleep.


One Rose



One rose comes in Spring,
another comes in Winter,
watching the snow falls.


All in the World



A walk through downtown, oh such a wondrous night!
To be surrounded by all this Christmas' light.
The stars, like little children ready to be tuck to bed,
and a mistletoe is hung above every lover's head.
Caroler bundle up, and sing with a harmonious tune,
welcome all spectator, even me and the moon.
Laughter, and much of it, eventually sing along,
then suddenly the whole world broke out a song.
And the wind, they sweep up the remain of Autumn's leaves,
while Winter secretly comes, chilling the trees.
Everything about this, around me gave my heart a joy,
much more than any gift that I can enjoy!
But none of this, to me, is what make this night so rare,
because in the end, all sweet things in this world comes in pair.


Sand of Time



Memories are like
the seasons - slowly changing.
What will we forget?


Memories of a Friend



It is sudden, the news that two friends will part away.
While there are still words left in this world, so much to say.
All the moments that could have been part of a memory.
Now are out of reach and feel like some faraway dream.
Dark day grows darker, it is slowly counting down.
A reed player plays all day, all throughout the town.
Such a sad melody only brings an unfamiliar tune.
Memories are like a bouquet of flower that is yet fully bloom.
At the base of a hill, surrounded by mountains of silhouette,
time grows shorter until – No! No! Not yet!
And there goes the morning star’s light last strand.
Maybe, someday fate will reveal their intentions and plans.
But for now, if these memories is enough to make us cry,
surely, our last word together, will not have to be goodbye.



To You



When the day comes, when I could not write no more,
is when the dried leaves are gone, the last tear have fall,
is when the blue bird stop singing their peaceful tune,
and the muse that once here, now left me alone in this empty room.
The river runs like blood bleeding from the tip of my pen,
and ideas are like the wind, who know where have they went?
The sun will sets, but the moon will refuse to rise,
and the stars that twinkle, no long shine in your eye.
Almost like losing a shadow, the beating heart stop beating,
the silhouette will cover the street, every corner, every building.
Such a sad day, when the cold is everywhere to be found.
The angel that sits here, mouth muted unsound.
But if by chance, that the love in your eye still shine,
then maybe I could love to write again, one last time.



Departure



Two lovers by the beach at night,
they’ve come to watch the moon.
Their time has come, but yet their love
like Spring’s bud fully bloom.

The stars, they dance, they laugh, they cheer,
the lovers watch them close.
The sea beneath the starry sky,
is roaring like a ghost.

But just before the day begin,
and oh here come the tide.
He closes his eye and hold her close,
kiss her and bade goodbye.



Slowly Like the Clouds



It seem sometime when life passed us,
Somehow we all forget
Or what we felt, or whom we are
And memories we've kept.

Slowly, our life will fade like clouds,
Along our joy and pain.
But yet closely observe the sky,
that only rain remain.

The rain will then disperses like days,
As moment like the years
And like the second into hour,
Will slowly disappear.

The time will come, that we all forget
For what our life has been.
So soon, that all we know and love,
Will cease away unseen.



Excuse to Escape



Some lover must face the fact of the cruel reality,
That love is blind, they failed to see,
Their heart only desire an ending of a romantic fairytale,
While dream, in this endless sea, silently it sail.
And it sail! It sail until the dream becomes a tear,
Love blooms wild thorns, palms bleeding too much to bear.
Keep on holding, hoping that Heaven will be their guide.
But truthfully, there is nothing more to do, except to hide.
No more words need to be said when love close to an end,
All those promises will no longer matter between two friends.
Two paths separate into two different ways,
Heart beats a sad melody for the rest of its day.
But if it true, that two hearts still beat a dying fire,
Then love is like the season, changing, but will not expire.



A Garden Portrait




The sky swallowed all the stars.
Nothing is left, but the falling snow
and the wind that strolls alongside it.
While singing a song for these dying flowers,
this garden became a graveyard
filled with nothing but the decays.

When the snow have melted away,
the song became a prayer.
Slowly being recited as each petals
are being picked up one by one.
They escort the wind from the Garden of Eden
to a place where they can't be reached.

This garden is now filled with stems.
Bodies cripple as the petals float away.
Here, among the thousand of petals
fluttering into the empty sky;
is a flower, with a single petal,
that's still holding onto the ground



Free to Fall




A violet ray marches across the sky
Spilling out the unspoken word.
The echo’s lost in the silhouetted mountain.
When I reach out, the sun slowly sets,
The heart’s beat counts down the sun.

While I watch the infinite city light,
Mirroring the invisible stars.
Mind drifts and wanders, trying to find
The stars hidden in the abyss.
The heart’s beat breaks the silence.

Everything around me becomes still.
The lifeless leaves with their fading green.
They’ve been cast off by their dying tree.
I could feel the leaves shimmering by,
The heart’s beat snares the fleeing sun.

But the sun continues to set,
Not a trace of the violet remains.
Eventually the moon pierces into the sky
Fully dressed in her silver gown.
The heart’s beat, stops beating.

Imprint

Publication Date: 12-16-2009

All Rights Reserved

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