Oh, how I miss it,
To walk bare-foot the sand at night,
Hazed by the fogged Moon and its little lights,
To lay comatose alone on the shore,
To hope and fear, the waves hugging me once more.
With a clutched cross to pray, alas,
Squeezing it to my chest, to chant ballads of the past,
To look the sky, and know not if someone is looking back,
And the prayers saying I lost my sight if all is black.
Me and my blindness, we bleed the same scar,
And when I see again, I go back to the graveyard,
As all is passing and so am I,
The words, deeds, all I write and lie,
They all end in the graves, but I visit, not die.
I clutch the cross as my heart bears the rosary,
The blood pouring was never poetry,
It was only red.
I made it breathe,
Now you see only an imaginary feat of gallantry.
Only I mourn myself for all have forgotten,
How much of me has been lost to battle,
The adorned fragment of me is loved,
I am proud of it, even when on the shore,
Such mastery of crafts I possess in this life,
To bear a diamond mask made of my tears-dried.
The Moon is a liar and only makes me a ghoul,
I violently dig the earth to find my soul,
Knowing I'll find only dirty nails and wet coal,
I never cease, for I am madness with beautiful skin.
And in the end, the Sun again rises,
It's time to visit the waterfall everyone admires,
I shall once more wash my dirty hands and feet,
As none needs to know I only am a thief,
One that tries to cheat itself and dig another hole,
Only to sleep deeper when I should go home.
YOU ARE READING
Perturbance
Puisi"The chaos is scattered and split, but the order it has is not for us to see." Here is my 2nd poetry book, yet another journey delving into the depths of the mind to uncover one self. The chapters will diverse in theme, yet they will be having dark...
