Category: 2019-20 Submissions

Every time I look her face
The voices of doubt gets small

Every time I walk to her
The sound of train coming form distance
pit-a-pat
The feelings coming from my heart gets bigger

Every time I get closer to her
The sound of train gets faster, and closer
pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat,

A wise she’d stay still
As my whole world stopped
But

As if I stopped with my world
Even one finger doesn’t tick

Then she cracks my fragile world
Step By Step, she breaks the world

I don’t know Is it
the disappointment of feelings coming form the heart
Or
did I realized the feeling coming form my heart is like a
The candle shivers in sigh
Or
I’m just sad, but I can’t feel it

We were too close stay far from each other

I thought you were ready
Color the world with blue
To make your tears to fade

I would do everything to hold you again
I thought I was ready
Color the world with gray
To fill it with your shadow
To do meaningless regret

We were too far to love each other

I feel loneliness when I’m in love
I look at her until my lake in my heart drys out
I try not to fall in those stars
I just look at her
And she looks back
And she loves
Him.

The safest place I know
is existing in my own house.
Down the hall and up the carpeted stairs.
Then there’s a set of white doors.

Enter the room
but be greeted by clutter and mess.
It’s like a bird’s nest.
carefully arranged

In the center lay the sticks
that make up my nest.
Made up nicely,
the sheets tinted a pastel pink.

A rectangle cut into the wall
floods the room with a marvelous light.
A drape feathered over the sunshine,
dimming the lair.

I wrap my wings around me
and settle into the sticks and stones
that I collected over the years
of memories

Two tulips in a field amidst a strong gale,
of bugles and horns-

Shelter its petals from the breeze,
the sound of air raids-

The wind grows stronger,
the sound of thuds-

The tulips wear a crimson dress,
as he stares-

The sound of boots thudding,
thud, thud, thud-

And more thudding without looking,
the tulips are crushed-

One remaining petal still coated in red,
looks at her loss-

Millions of petals saturate the field,
the sound stops-

The stampede moves elsewhere to sing,
more tulips await-

The petals form a new field,
of pink not white-

The field will now be forever tainted,
what happened that night-

A father should not hold his son,
lifeless and gone-

But tulips are just a casualty of war,
no boundaries are drawn.

I walked
on the street.
There were
tall trees around me. The leaves
were bright green under the sunshine.

By listening to the music
from my ear phones,
I felt a moment of
peace and joy.

A kid was learning how to ride a bike
on the sidewalk.
His brother besides
Lost his patience,
And finally left him alone. He couldn’t get on the bike.

I stopped at a cross
and waiting for the traffic light to turn green.
All kinds of cars were
rushing by towards somewhere.

I looked up
at the sky.
It was light blue with a few clouds.
Today is a good day, I thought.
I stared at the sky
and witnessed a group of birds flying ahead.
Leaving the wires
They used to stand on.

The brightness of the sun
hurts my eyes, so I lowered my head.
Suddenly,
the music stopped
– it was in the period of changing to another song.

The traffic light turned green.
I started walking to
the other side.
As I walked,
I noticed that
the marks under my feet
were faded.

The bright lights from Venus stand stark
against the soft twilight.
And above it, the dark oblivion rests
above the top of the trees.
The stars form perfect clusters,
illuminating the garden.

A single star shoots
across the sky,
burning and hurling its way
through the cosmos above,
promising a poisoned demise
to some other planet.

But that is another planet,
another swirling galaxy,
another twilight.
Rest beneath the willows
and listen to the trickling brooks
and sleep.

This garden has no room for poisoned thoughts,
only the soft petals of reassurance.
Leave your fate behind you
and rest.
Come and let the weariness
and weight of your soul
leave you.

Red blotted on pale cheeks,
a young face
unmarked, still lovely.

Roses, in red,
blossoming in lush gardens
and swans gliding on a lake,
black eyes filled with charm.

Pale men with black hair and
colored glass eyes, born
with silver and gold
and
ignorant to their actions
and their terrible beauty.

Vain and pearled
sat the young child,
red still blotted on pale cheeks
and a bony neck with silver pouring from
its lips as it falls to the mooring swans,
eyes black as trout