inspiration – Page 6 – Portrait of Em.

mémoire

clutters of thoughts,
crushed feelings,
crashed emotions,

laughter, surprise, sadness,
grief, tears, screams,
moan, mourn, regrets,
creep,

all that come in a sudden
like a flash
at a moment,

too short to be held,
too soon to be understood,
too fast to be remembered,

but this is the way of life, of nature, of world.

Written on 17 February 2014,
In memoir of Mr Mui, a former teacher of mine, who passed away earlier.

us-as-sinners

i am a sinner
no matter what
no matter what
i am a sinner
no matter what

for every line i write
for every word i say
for every stroke i paint
for every suggestion i make
for every clue i give
no one is to hear
to listen
to understand

to the sky
to the sea
to the landfill
to the gutter

better say nothing
better not to think

in a world like this
of ours
we are all sinners

written on 23 Jan 2014

Love is miraculous, it is
A magic casted on us at a special
Moment in time,
Happily ever after, i pray, merrily going
Over and over and over, for
I am falling in love and knowing
You are feeling the same,
A little wish i make will
Never ever fade.

Written on 11 Jan 2014,
spells my name.

love

For love, as said, is like a shooting star,
Way up high and goes so far,
Cannot be kept in a crystal jar,
But it does grow,
Like the very unique flower:

No restriction,
No ropes,
No locks,
No knots,
With patience,
With water,
With the heart to love and the heart to be loved.

Believe in true love,
Because the love needs love to love.

Written on 3 July 2014.

thinking-together

Sloth leads to laziness in thinking and
Living keeps us staying awake.

“Thinking makes you a philosopher?”
— Thinking makes me a dreamer, I say.

“I am living in a dream
Dreams are existing in my life

When, am I awake?
When, am I dreaming?

Walk, Dream, Sleep, Dream, Live.”

You are existing in the dream and
Living in the dream.
For dreams become your reality and you are sleeping within.
So am I.

“I like how our words make a book together.”
Our book is made up of poems,
And our poems paint our dream.
We are the only two dreamy monsters
In this sweet lovely dream.

Written on 31 December 2013, co-poet is Cheron T.
Writing a poem together is fun.

pho-enix

“Phoenixes burst into flame
when it is time for them to die, and
are reborn from the ash.”
You said.

Only if it could.

Perish,
when it is about time;
turning into ash,
to dust, and to dust, then into dust;
go back to the ground,
to the earth.

And all pray,
hopefully,
for the great return,
for the great reborn.

And all wishing to be the phoenix:
dead, and reborn;
dimmed, and relight;
vanished, and reappear;

Yet all
remained as ash.

Hopelessly perish alone.

The dark gutter,
The lonely gutter.

Written on 25 October 2013,
An inspiration from a sentence from my love — about phoenixes.

sea-side

Here we are,
All alone,
Forever alone.

Lie there the old, forgotten bowl,
Alone for years, or one maybe,
Once used for breakfast, luncheon and supper,
Until it can hold nothing.
Lying alone,
Forever alone.

At the sea side, I saw
Not only the old forgotten bowl,
But also the newly bought toy car.
“A young boy left it here,” I was told.
Forgotten car,
Forgotten childhood,
Forgotten innocence.
Nothing but memories are left with it —
Old memories, no longer fresh,
Stagnant.
Who knows who its owner was,
Who knows why He left it here,
Who cares —
And here it lies,
Lying alone,
Forever alone.

And I saw the broken beer bottles,
Once They chatted together,
Holding the beer,
Cheers and cheers, they went,
Now nothing but the bottles left.
How many broken hearts they had comfort,
And how many they saw are healed.
There they are,
Lying alone,
Forever alone.

And the lighthouse,
Here it stands,
Days and nights.
Guiding the lost boats,
Greeting the large ships,
But how many do care here it stands?
Here it stands,
Standing alone,
Forever alone.

And here We are,
Family and Friends,
Siblings and Lovers,
We play, We talk, We walk,
But how many do understand
The underlying world of darkness
Hiding beneath the fragile heart —

Here we are,
All alone,
Forever alone.

Written on 13 October 2013,
In Lei Yue Mun, Hong Kong.

Seeing the forgotten, worn-out pieces of memories on the beach next to the old lighthouse.

Tag: inspiration