Seeds

It's amazing to watch something grow - the process in which you nurture something from the very beginning, and seeing it mature into something else. Whether it's a flower from National Geographic caught on tape, blossoming, or pictures in people's houses of babies on one side gradually getting older to the other, it's all fascinating. 

What else is fascinating is time. 

Time. What is time? 

"Time changes everything." 

To grow up, to blossom into something new, something different. 

From a tiny brown seedling, into a vibrant, scented daffodil. 

From a baby, to a grown up human. 

From a caterpillar, to a butterfly. 

Or from a ripe apple, to a rotten fly-infested, mold-congested apple. 

Or from being that person that you were, to the person that you are. 

Time changes everything. 

I used to watch them chew gum and blow bubbles

Candy-floss pink so sweet and yummy,

I tried to make one too but I always had trouble.

I used to watch them roll on their tummy

Without any haste, so perfectly done.

But when I tried, it always turned out crummy.

I used to watch them have so much fun

Laughing, skipping, and running along.

I tried to join too but for me they would always shun.

 I used to hear them sing so many songs

A melody entwined so perfectly matched

In between the rests was where I belong

I used to find that my socks were mismatched

A white with a black, or a black with a white

Just like me, I was always unmatched.

I used to hide under the covers late at night

And squeeze and squeeze my eyes tightly shut

Because the roaring darkness gave me a fright.

I stick up magazine fragments I always cut

I had nothing else to do – I’m a sore thumb

But to them I always seemed like a mutt.

I think that now I can blow bubble gum

Just like how I used to watched them

But I then again I can’t, and so I’m glum.

I see the first green of the plant stem

I’ve finally found something I can do

It’s beautiful just like an emerald gem.

I hold the pencil tighter – I draw something new.

Flying across the page it flits and it’s sweeping.

I stop and bring it up to see what I drew.

I see that it is a girl clutching her head, weeping.

Bringing it up to my face to look closely

As the inky black realization seeps in, creeping.

I drew her tears like blood, quite grossly

Her lips upturned like a pale blue moon

In short, she looked like me – mostly.

I will learn to know how to sing that tune

That tune I used always hear them hum

It always reminds me of a tranquil dune.

I will see who and what I’ve become

That past me I’ve already burnt to ash

Burnt to ash, the color of a ripe plum.

I will no longer remember them splash

Having fun, running and laughing about

All those memories I’ll throw in the trash.

Because now my future seed’s begun to sprout

Never again will I ever feel doubt. 

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD2uOE_7Ld1Wv-bC-0x_T4MgEEHllKqwqxLyA5J0airBMyYwY2j2RqlA3pecGXv-aeaatbgDuGLbhEJXn0GUtuWP7RlKjcJw_7wgF9XGjL0P3T-4MGqE-5AlB4Kii_L6vLPT4f92dK4NGC/s1600/Time.jpg

Butterflies

Ever been scared? 

Ever felt that stirring at the bottom of your stomach; that rising dread that causes butterflies? 

Yes, me too. 

This is a poem dedicated to that feeling we call fear that haunts probably everyone's lives. 

The bubbling broth of black rises,

Pouring and sweeping everything out.

Full of filthy surprises,

It reeks of dreadful doubt.

Pouring and sweeping everything out,

Staining every nook and cranny

It reeks of dreadful doubt,

Its stone heart so uncanny.

Staining every nook and cranny,

It tears, rips and shreds everything,

Its stone heart so uncanny,

Fused like a wedding ring.

It tears, rips and shreds everything,

Pure abomination seethes where it goes,

Fused like a wedding ring,

When it will leave, nobody knows.

Pure abomination seethes where it goes,

Pricking fingers leave beads of blood

When it will leave, nobody knows

Dragging me into the flood.

Pricking fingers leave beads of blood

A scarlet rose shows nothing but thorns

Dragging me into the flood,

All I see is its amorphous horns.

A scarlet rose shows nothing but horns,

Under the obsidian mask it is revealed

All I see is its amorphous horns

There it is! Fear - unconcealed.

Under the obsidian mask it is revealed

The savage beast I call my foe

There it is! Fear  - unconcealed,

All it ever brought was wretched woe.

The savage beast I call my foe

Cackling, it bears its fangs

All it ever brought was wretched woe

Upon a thin thread my soul hangs.

Cackling, it bears its fangs

I lash out and give it a blow

Upon a thin thread my soul hangs,

In the sky flies a black crow.

I lash out and give it a blow

Knocking it down, I feel pleasure

In the sky flies a black crow

Seeking its golden treasure.

Knocking it down, I feel pleasure

As it writhes and starts to howl

Seeking its golden treasure

The black crow caws in fear so foul.

As it writhes and starts to howl

It starts to fade and diminish

The black crow caws in fear so foul

It will soon end with a gruesome finish.

It starts to fade and diminish

Full of filthy surprises,

It will soon end with a gruesome finish.

The bubbling broth of black rises. 

Brown

Brown is such a timid, shy colour. Hesitant; the "in-betweener" of the dark noble black, and the rough (annoying) yet vibrant orange. It is a careful colour, if you would say, and slow and thoughtful. Most people associate brown as the colour of dirty mud; unclean things, or the colour of deep chocolate. To me, each colour has its own personality, and I would say that brown (as mousy brown) would be like the girl who wears thick glasses who sits at the back of the class, scribbling down notes and who barely utters a word. Or brown would be the boy who spends every lunch in the library, preferring books to people. Brown would be the sort of person who is careful with what they say. 

I got inspired by this colour we call brown. I hope you enjoy it. 

Children walking with their mothers

Hands knotted so no one would stray

I’m always reminding others

You be careful of what you say

Looking ahead I catch his eye

Can’t bear it so I look away

As I felt we both heave a sigh

You be careful of what you say

I open my mouth as words flow

The words get caught and so they stay

Why they did I will never know

You be careful of what you say

Like beads strung on a string they lie

Colorful beads, a wide array

One bead slips and they start to fly

You be careful of what you say

A river fierce and tumbling

Stronger than the sea’s salty spray

First it started with mumbling

You be careful of what you say

I feel a pounding in my head

What I’m seeing just starts to sway

I’m walking upon a thin thread

You be careful of what you say

The tick and the tock of the clocks

I know that later I will pay

As the key turns and it unlocks

You be careful of what you say

I wasn’t thinking – give me time

Sorry that it’s gonna delay

Time is precious it’s just sublime

You be careful of what you say

My mind is but a worn machine

Used to much; coated in decay

I’m tightly caught just in between

You be careful of what you say

The answer awaits with a plea

Inside my mouth it must not stay

Now it’s them who’s reminding me:

You be careful of what you say.

http://i74.photobucket.com/albums/i267/mikey_arts2/BrownLeavesLR.jpg

Orange

Orange.
It's quite true that everyone has different connotations of every colour:
Blue - serenity, calm, relaxation.
Red - anger, hatred, impatience.
Yellow - sunshine, love, passion.
Black - disappointment, hope, emptiness.
Green - luck, life, nature.
White - purity, naivety, cleanliness.

And, there's orange.

Orange - 3 a bright reddish-yellow color like that of the skin of a ripe orange.

That's the dictionary's meaning. For me, orange is: 

Annoying, separation, a temptation to hit something, headaches, pains, heartaches. 

Here is another poem that I wrote during the days when orange was the colour that haunted me day and night; a Jack 'O' lantern that lights up in the night promising death and sadness. 

Two peas in a pod

That’s what we were.

But hey look now – it’s so just odd

As if time passed by in a blur.

Was it my fault?

Or was it because you grew

bored and came to a halt?

Words exchanged so few

these days, what’s wrong?

My heart’s grown smaller

When the days stretch long

I don’t have the strength to holler

And reveal my sorrow

That has been building up

Everyday to the morrow

Spilling to the top of the cup

My sorrow drips and drops

Like my salty tears I blink

So delicate like a bubble pop

With every spillage my soul shrinks

Till nothing is left but a seed

Planted from the very start

Before it was taken to bleed

With the hollowness of my heart,

I miss those times, I really do

I miss the laughter, the felicity.

Maybe you wanted something new

Or it was for the sake of simplicity.

But memories are hard to rid of

No eraser can rub them away.

I feel like you’ve given me a shove

To fall down and leave me to decay

While you’re safe up there with her

The better and newer and funny one -

There all along waiting for it to occur

Waiting for me to trip and run.

I’m like an old useless doll

Ragged and dirty – to be tossed

Just another fly on the wall

Doesn’t matter if I get lost.

Two peas in a pod

That’s what we were

But hey look now- it’s just so odd

As if time passed by in a blur.

Was it my fault?

Or was it because you grew

bored and came to a halt?

http://archecolour.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/orange-paint-on-brush.jpg

"Invisible"

There are people who wish they weren't the center of attention; the sore thumb that sticks out, or the odd one out. They wish they'd just blend it, another part of a jigsaw puzzle to this world that fits in perfectly. 

They wish they were invisible. 

But there are other people who wake up every day, and having people pass by them as if they weren't there. They are the dust under the bed that no one ever bothered to clean up, that new hairstyle no one notices, the key that just never seems to fit quite through the key hole. 

They wish they were not invisible. 

"Invisible" by Skylar Grey is a song that just barely brushes this belief, this idea. I think it's a suitable title for this poem I wrote, because it's like everyone judges by our cover, and never the true inner self. 

I hope you like it. 

Painted portraits of perfection

Precious china cups with swirls

Playful dolls with their shiny complexion

Pristine and flawless teeth like pearls

Purest cobalt in its purest form

Pleasant day – no storms to detect

Peerless smiles true and warm

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Happy giggles clear and loud

Humorous jokes so hard to resist

Healthy lives unaffected and proud

Hearty meals that always persists

Healing scars and curing wounds

Hearing something rather snappy -

Harps stringing golden tunes

Happy, happy, happy.

Reality is not so much splendid

Reaching for the unreal goal

Really, this just has to be ended

Ready or not? This will take its toll

Ruby roses brimming with thorns

Rough makeup hiding actuality

Revealing all those ugly horns

Reality, reality, reality.

Feelings boil in angry rage

Fingers twitch and clench

Fear escapes its lonely cage

Forget that happy stench

Finally these chains are released

Faithful? No, it’s nowhere near

Flawless perfection has decreased

Fear, fear, fear.

Somber soul seeps with pain

Screeching that helpless cry

Sufferings leaving sorry stains

Supposing to finally die

Snakes attacking at its prey

Saying what we never had

Singing angels dull and grey

Sad, sad, sad.

Learning to get a grip

Lone wolf strides all alone

Leaving all those battleships

Lying screams all in a moan

Leeches sucking what is life

Loving care…oh! If only!

Leaden soul causes a strife-

Lonely, lonely, lonely.

Tripping over tricky stones

Tired of being wrongly used

Terrified to the marrow of bones

Tearful faces all abused

Teaching what is wrong from right

Tedious talks gets one inspired

Tattling tales leads to a fight

Tired, tired, tired.

Enigmas eventually so well grasped

Eggs violently cracked and whipped

Every face is now all masked

Each second so very flipped

Efforts to stop this silliness

Eager but answered with rebuff

Eerie cackles so pitiless

Enough. Enough. ENOUGH!

http://www.ineedmyfix.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/skylar-grey-invisible.jpg

Break Even

Yes, I can bet you that we've all heard the song "Break Even" by the Script. And I can bet you again that we've all broken something - glass cups, porcelain dolls, plates, hearts - and sometimes you just can't fix it.

This is a poem that I wrote, in which this particular idea struck inspiration for me. I hope you enjoy it.

Today I bought a lovely jar

Wonderful colors in a mix

But I dropped the jar, somewhere far

There are some things that you can’t fix.

Today I got some fresh new eggs

Counted in total, there were six

Then I happened to drop them next

There are some things that you can’t fix.

Today I received wine glasses

From the sky fell several bricks

Wine glasses now different masses

There are some things that you can’t fix.

Today I brought a new snow globe

Down it went with several kicks

Shatters in gleaming light like strobes

There are some things that you can’t fix.

https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPDra-sGLuFvs_HaY2CcliPmgEmV1LAFgdzGSIcq3z7fm0DQWx8mERKyXINVh5bZg2R5nuRx1xJvhe2O5-A7_IKnTxWRxfANUH9F-6T12cervtJ-VdQLGzI-s-lwH60F4sxR9H-5fsWj5h/s320/broken_by_liebe_sie.jpg