Fog

I stand on the precipice between death and life,
A thin line like the edge of a knife.
Obscuring my vision with fog and fear;
Cold wind strips me of all so dear.
Which way I turn, which path I take,
Leaves me waist-deep in a murky lake.

Where are you, when your name I call,
My voice echoing off the wall?
All I seek is warmth and light,
But you are nowhere in my sight.
Those promises, do they mean nothing?
Empty words that leave me stumbling
Through the tears, through the pain,
Through the endless pouring rain.

One last thought, as I lie torn and folorn:
Will you remember me when I am gone?

[poetry] Raindrops

((This is haiku-styled. Simple, elegant, and emotion-filled.))

Raindrops all around
Perfect image of my soul:
Sorrow, pain and fear.

[poetry] Dark Prison

((While not my first dark poem, this is the first that I feel safe posting without anyone sending me to a psychiatrist for counseling.))

The air is still and raw,
And yet untold horrors gnaw
Away the broken mask of happiness,
Planting doubt, reaping sadness.

She views the world through tinted lenses,
Dark whispers and murmurs blind her senses.
But the darkness was but an illusion;
The black thoughts, the Devil's intrusion.

So she sits in the dark prison
Of her own mind, her own creation.
When will she wake from this nightmare of pain?
Or is this doorless chamber forever her fate?

[poetry] The Diary

((Another emotional poem. This one was for a friend who was going overseas to study.

Notice the rhyming couplet at the end.

Note too the almost-equal metre for each line. I never managed to get that right.))

Turning the pages of a long forgotten diary,
Re-painting in my mind memories lost and broken.
Stopping at a fresh page, blank and empty,
I pick up my pen to craft a story unspoken.

How many summers since we first met?
How many winters has your smile warmed?
Each moment together, happy and sad, sunny and wet,
Kept chronicled in this book, the memories we've formed.

But flowers were meant to wilt someday,
And snowflakes meant to melt.
Just as birds in winger fly away,
You weren't meant to stay.

If the ending were mine to say,
I would cling to you and never let go.
But who are we but characters of a play,
On stage, waiting for events to unfold.

I end my entry with a trembling hand,
And close the diary upon tear-smudged ink.
Here is where our story ends;
Words fail me as I raise my hand and think:

"Farewell, fair friend, it is not as bad as it seems;
We will meet again in the fabled land of dreams."

[prose] A Father's Love

((This is one of my all-time favourites. Enjoy!!))

The young child lay in the darkest corner of her room, sobbing into her pillow. Though she hid under her blanket, the thick sheet of wool gave no warmth to her icy heart. Grief had claimed her, and she was numbed to all else. Beside her lay an open journal with a half-written entry, a weathered guitar and a handphone. Writing, music and friends, these used to be her source of comfort, but now, all else failed, and she was left alone in the dark.

How could this happen, she asked the ceiling pointlessly. She had spent half her life and all her energy creating this perfect world, this personal utopia had that caved in overnight, leaving her as broken as her sanctuary. Her fingernails clawed her chest as though trying to rip away the pain from her heart. Tears flowed free as the rain, but they could not wash away all that has happened, or would happen. Let me die now, she screamed soundlessly into her pillow. Sorrow had hijacked her body; she would leave this world of pain and loneliness now. Nothing could change her mind...

Except...

The door opened so soundlessly that the girl, so absorbed in her pain, did not hear, nor did she see the light-source, a single candle burning bright, chase away the blackness that swallowed her. He who held the candle walked into the room with such grace He seemed to glide. He set the candle at her bedside and sat on the edge of her bed, stroking her once glossy, smooth hair. He sighed; it hurt Him to see His child in pain. The little girl looked up with an expression of mixed joy and surprise on her face wet with tears.

"Papa!" she cried, releasing the pillow she was holding on tightly to and flinging herself into His open arms.

"Papa... I... Oh Papa! It hurts so much!"

"Hush, child," the Father whispered, His voice gentle as the summer breeze. "I understand. It's alright, it's alright."

"But Papa! How can You know? How can You understand?" The child's eyes brimmed once more with tears, two fat crystal dewdrops rolling down her cheeks.

"Trust Me, My child, I know. I have seen you suffer from afar. Now, precious one, will you be willing to let Me help you?"

In reply, the girl clutched her Father's shirt, her arms being too short to circle His chest. She held nothing back, her Father's shirt slowly growing wet with tears. He held her tight in those arms that never grew tired of comforting His children. His breath, sweet and warm, melted her hardened heart, thawing the numbness in her body, giving her strength and love...

Finally the girl looked up to gaze into her Father's kind eyes, her heart lightened, her small frame so filled with joy she hardly dared to open her mouth for fear that the happiness within would empty out of her.

"Thank You, Papa! I feel better now..." She managed a small smile, her eyes alight once more with joy.

He smiled in return and gently pushed her back onto her bed, tucking her in under the blankets.

"You're welcome, dear child," He whispered, the words floating above her into the night air. "You're always welcome. I am always here for you. But now, rest well, my child."

He kissed her on her forehead, took up the still-burning candle, and left her room, pausing only to watch her sleep with a smile on her lips and utter peace in her heart.

"Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
- Matthew 11:28

[poetry] I will always be there for you

((Someone once told me that my poetry was straightforward and honest. This is the best example of that phenomenon.

It is not obvious, but this is the first of a series of poems that I will write, that partially follow the sonnet structure: 14 lines, with 3 sets of 4 lines following a certain rhyme scheme, and ending with a rhyming couplet. I did not know it then, but I would eventually become obsessed with rhyming couplets.

Again, this poem is 3 years old.))

When you are lost and feeling lonely
Like the world has given up on you
Fret not, I will never think of you lowly
I'll be with you as you start each day anew

When the sun shines bright upon your path
And a smile is lit up on your face
I'll be there to share your joy and laugh
To run with you and finish the race

When you just feel like giving in
And wishing for the day to end
I will be there to cheer you on
Help you back on your feet to stand

And I will always be there for you
Through the good times and the bad ones too

[poetry] Last Goodbye

((My first attempt at spontaneous inspirational writing. This was almost 3 years ago. How my writing has evolved from then!))

That day you left I died inside.

"Goodbye," you said. "Goodbye."
The word echoes still in my head.
It seemed so full of promise and truth,
That we would be together again.

At that time you were smiling,
And so was I.
But beneath my smile were hidden tears.
I wonder if you felt the same too?

I boarded my train,
You boarded yours.
As the trains embarked on their journeys,
I watched as your face faded to naught.

Months later I'm back here
To this place where we parted.
Your grin is still silhouetted in the shadows.
Your scent dances on the breeze.

All pretense fades; I cannot hold back,
A crystal dissolves the dust, then two.
I whisper in the wind, that it might reach your ears,
"We will not meet again; this will be my last goodbye."