33: Hangout

Would you like to hang with me?

And by that, I mean, 

We could walk by the sea,

Cast rods and catch sea breams.

We could live the dream, walk the talk. 

Hop on a plane and fly to Black Rock,

Where the man burns bright at the end of Aug.

I'll say, why not?

We could visit the mountains,

Sit around a fire, watching it burn. 

As the sun sets, we say auf Wiedersehen,

Ready to lay and wait for its return. 

Would you like to hang with me? 

And by that, what I really mean, 

You're delightful to be with. 

Won't you hang with me? 

32: Struck

Sun beams strike me,
Struck a chord, bursting, at the seams.
Cushions a failing harmony, which,
Strikes tender heartstrings.

Pins fall, awestruck by the bowling ball,
Travelling to, by, and past, the last.
Grovelling by the bay, praying,
For a chance at salvation, redemption.

Some beams strike hard,
Upon the thoughts of you, star struck.
Struck and stuck, striking, strutting,
Stuttering through, a bumbling fool.

Once struck, a lightning bolt carries,
Joules of energy, shocking,
Falling feeling, never-ending.
The bolt of Cupid, striking.

Rumbling, rambling,
Tumbling, fumbling.
Only a fool can deny,
Once struck, struck true.

31: Words

This comes as an inspiration after attending "Quiet Mornings" launch event.

Parts of sentence meaningless standing alone,
Forming meaning once strung.
Powerful emotions binding one,
And the ones yet bound.

Phrases uttered, sentences jumbled.
Words are just words.
Words carry no powers half-hearted.
Until life is bestowed upon them.

Simple words strung together by a poet,
Oozing of emotions.
The literal no longer present,
When the intent behind them is clear.

Raw emotions that sway and fray,
Or give hope to those who pray.
For those who hear,
The literal is a melody, a gentle crooning to the ears.
For those who listen,
The intent is a symphony, angry waves of tears.

Swords and shields may clash,
But the pen is always greater.
In conveying what matters,
Words aren't just words.

30: You'll Never Walk Alone

This a poem dedicated to my two friends who has passed on into the afterlife, 4 years apart. Young men that had bright long futures ahead of them, snuffed out by the cruelties of fate. I miss you both.

Life is a shadow of death,
A passage through the valleys of time.
Whence we came, thither we go.
Our journey made bearable by faith,
In and within.
You'll never walk alone.
Never did, never will.

29: Doors

Traveling agents portals peddlers,
Flight rides distance walks.
Gateways windows tickets receptions,
To experiences and never hads.

Open slammed ajar shut.
Past future presents
Present past futures.
Never had been never should have been.

Uncertainties unresolved.
Unrequited unexpected uninitiated undermined.
Unopened untainted uncoded unsuspecting.
Unicorns.

Doors eventually lead nowhere,
If the walk is not taken.

Maybe.
Maybe.
Maybe.
My door.

28: Gentle Stars

Gentle lapping of waves against stone,
Steadily, unhurried, unnoticed.
The rush of vehicles on the road,
Washing every other waves to oblivion.

Darkness of sky, speckled diamonds,
Withholding stories from the dawn of time.
Blotted out by city glows,
Screened by our dominion over life.

The fantasies, the worries, the speculations, the troubles.
All that we have known and respected,
All that has ever was and is.

Every thing that ever mattered,
Doesn't matter to the soft pounding of waves.
The hard crashing of helplessness,
Soothed by timeless nature of eternity.

In the presence of time itself,
Uncertainties and doubts surface clear.
Yearning for an answer and a revelation,
Questions that doesn't have a resolution.

Questions that may never be answered,
For the universe is so much more.

27: Spectator

A half dozen strange faces,
Looking away into nothingness,
Avoiding one another,
Held in a communal silence.

Who are you, dressed in pink,
On the way to school I presume.
With a backpack upon your shoulders,
What might you be studying?

Behind the face of twenty,
How many years have you known?
How many tempers thrown,
How many hearts broken?

In all fairness, you might be thinking that of me.
A man of twenties, people watching.
What is he writing, scribbling on a notebook?
What plays within that headphones that nests against his ears?

Who are you looking at?
Who am I pondering about?
A chance meeting in a strange place,
Strangers still we will leave.