Im lost in a maze.
And so is my lover.
We both search
for something to discover.
He searches for his words,
And i search for a place.
We both get lost,
Hoping to stay.
I have a Rose.
He has a Lilly with roots.
Mines stands for love.
And his stands for truth.
Can a Lilly live with a Rose?
Can a Rose live with a Lilly?
Though they are the same kind,
Does it sound silly?
I hear his heart
Beating warm and whole.
He hears mine,
Closed and cold.
He holds my hand,
He can defend.
I hold his hugs,
Something to depend.
I shared my world.
All he heard.
I kept talking,
Soon he got hurt.
We like each other.
That is one strong common.
Will I change?
Or shall I stay stubborn?
He wants me to open.
He wants me to listen.
He wants me to share both our worlds,
He doesn't want to hasten.
So, I shall keep quite.
Hoping I would understand.
I shall hear his words, his world.
And soon receive his loving hands.
He feel's helpless.
Actually we both are.
We each give other a hand,
All the same, nothing but a heart.
He says Im a monster,
In his head.
He says I eat his heart,
Thinks on his bed.
For me, He's someone.
Truly undiscovered,
Someone new,
Someone uncovered.
Does he know how i feel?
How i cry in my heart?
Or is it me, should i know,
he doesn't want to be alone or stayed apart?
What should happen?
A simple two month contract?
Will we survive?
Or one subtract?
I don't know, I do care.
It's love?.. or is it fair?
Im tired. Im weak.
Lost and dead.
All i can do.
is just think of him in my head.
Oh!Dear. Do I doubt?
No, I don't. It's just fear start.
All I know is that he would be wonderful for me.
All he wants,..... for me to see.
Friday, March 26, 2010
A piece of world, a piece of paper bound by lonely dust.
by: Angel DeSouza
A book, has pages... Filled with most unique scribbles. Scribbled alone, scribbled with someone, scribbled for someone and scribbled... for own. Patterns of letters, colors of words, pictures painted with verbal ecstasy, only felt in the hands of the beholder, the Reader. shapes and sizes vary, content itself cannot be criticize to commonness or comparison. I wonder... if a book ever has its opening?... Or if it has an ending?.. Just like any other relationship? An untold story? Lessons or Accidents?... Is it same as a human? Or Is it just a dumb, deaf, lifeless book?...
Ive met this book.. unique, masculine, own world where its hard to penetrate.. penetrate with my mind, my mind alone.. a world of talks, a world of own. I saw it on a web page... still.. alone.. waiting to be touched.. waiting to be read... It was not on a cheap sale price. Not expensive either... just presentable. Presentable with no risks.. but risks alone.
Oh! how it taunted me. How it teased me to leave my unfinished book and go for it, go for him. And yes, at first site, i decided. My book... move forward. How silly. who would leave the existing book unfinished and go to another one. Me. I wasn't silly. It was just who i am.
How excited was I.. there it was.. opposite of me. On my lap..On my hand... in my mind. Somehow with communication between us, we managed to strike an agreement to sit alone, sit together, together with a meal. Hand to hand, touch to touch.. mind to mind, heart to heart. Its smooth velvet skin, darkest shade of honey. Height of similarity yet incomparable. Sheets so smooth, soft that i can sink my tongue into its depth of life. Looks beyond my presentation. Muscular with sheets of untold stories.Words of shut, waiting to be open. Like lips ready to be kissed upon its key for commencement. To open, to unwind, to release its forbidden knowledge that i alone can get a chance.. a life time chance to hear, to feel, to know, to taste... to be in.. to be within. How delightful would it be to travel one on one with this book. Alone but willing to risk. Alone willing to be filled. Alone willing to be with a pencil, pencil to write more stories, more events, more...life. More meaning. Oh.. the book dwells in my aching heart. Tied by strings of contract.. simple two month.. simple mutual understanding. Oh.. how i hunger for his world.. yet this book seems helpless.
Alas, no letters, no write, but my forcible lips pierced his white diaries of his words, his world. Leaving him unaided, left..loose...blown away into thoughts of loneliness. This book...
No not this book.. This lonely, living, knowledgeable, gifted, talented book.. wants to be heard.. but for a price.. It wants to share its world.. his world.. with me..
Its loneliness, ready to be crumpled.. empty pages that pre-occupy a books living youth. For every good thing you wish, a price has to be paid..
His price is his world, my price.. was...my..Truth.
This book wouldn't allow me to read.. its pages keep shifting and turning in rebellious agony.. hoping me to realize, come to my sense that i haven't purchased it yet. It was just there.. waiting for me to pay my fee.. my fee of truth. My fee of my world.
Trust between us, like a twisted grape veins.. bearing new fruit.
Alcoholic.. thirst.. filling of one's empty glass.. satisfaction, a defeat over the ties, a victory over the ruling God of loneliness.
He is my book, my ticket to the world im destined to be?...
Yet my pen is not ready to write. The pages disappear each time i touch... tears of watery grave, emotions of unparallel, fills, trickles and drops. His pages, he cannot see, invisible are my tears aloft, plop soft on his skin. His letters.. submerge, erased by my washing salt.
We both stand on an edge.. signed by a contract.. a book and a boy. How can they both fall in love?... Who is willing to move?
The boy, vigorate his pen on the book? Or the book, living sheets that dances to make the boy follow wherever it goes?
No leader.. No follower..
Just the writer and just the book.
Both fills each other.
Boy writes and shares his world in the fleshes of the pages.
Book allows with love and departs its side of the world and shares it with the boy.
Wow.. a piece of both worlds.
A piece of paper bound by lonely dust. Dust as in TIME....
A book, has pages... Filled with most unique scribbles. Scribbled alone, scribbled with someone, scribbled for someone and scribbled... for own. Patterns of letters, colors of words, pictures painted with verbal ecstasy, only felt in the hands of the beholder, the Reader. shapes and sizes vary, content itself cannot be criticize to commonness or comparison. I wonder... if a book ever has its opening?... Or if it has an ending?.. Just like any other relationship? An untold story? Lessons or Accidents?... Is it same as a human? Or Is it just a dumb, deaf, lifeless book?...
Ive met this book.. unique, masculine, own world where its hard to penetrate.. penetrate with my mind, my mind alone.. a world of talks, a world of own. I saw it on a web page... still.. alone.. waiting to be touched.. waiting to be read... It was not on a cheap sale price. Not expensive either... just presentable. Presentable with no risks.. but risks alone.
Oh! how it taunted me. How it teased me to leave my unfinished book and go for it, go for him. And yes, at first site, i decided. My book... move forward. How silly. who would leave the existing book unfinished and go to another one. Me. I wasn't silly. It was just who i am.
How excited was I.. there it was.. opposite of me. On my lap..On my hand... in my mind. Somehow with communication between us, we managed to strike an agreement to sit alone, sit together, together with a meal. Hand to hand, touch to touch.. mind to mind, heart to heart. Its smooth velvet skin, darkest shade of honey. Height of similarity yet incomparable. Sheets so smooth, soft that i can sink my tongue into its depth of life. Looks beyond my presentation. Muscular with sheets of untold stories.Words of shut, waiting to be open. Like lips ready to be kissed upon its key for commencement. To open, to unwind, to release its forbidden knowledge that i alone can get a chance.. a life time chance to hear, to feel, to know, to taste... to be in.. to be within. How delightful would it be to travel one on one with this book. Alone but willing to risk. Alone willing to be filled. Alone willing to be with a pencil, pencil to write more stories, more events, more...life. More meaning. Oh.. the book dwells in my aching heart. Tied by strings of contract.. simple two month.. simple mutual understanding. Oh.. how i hunger for his world.. yet this book seems helpless.
Alas, no letters, no write, but my forcible lips pierced his white diaries of his words, his world. Leaving him unaided, left..loose...blown away into thoughts of loneliness. This book...
No not this book.. This lonely, living, knowledgeable, gifted, talented book.. wants to be heard.. but for a price.. It wants to share its world.. his world.. with me..
Its loneliness, ready to be crumpled.. empty pages that pre-occupy a books living youth. For every good thing you wish, a price has to be paid..
His price is his world, my price.. was...my..Truth.
This book wouldn't allow me to read.. its pages keep shifting and turning in rebellious agony.. hoping me to realize, come to my sense that i haven't purchased it yet. It was just there.. waiting for me to pay my fee.. my fee of truth. My fee of my world.
Trust between us, like a twisted grape veins.. bearing new fruit.
Alcoholic.. thirst.. filling of one's empty glass.. satisfaction, a defeat over the ties, a victory over the ruling God of loneliness.
He is my book, my ticket to the world im destined to be?...
Yet my pen is not ready to write. The pages disappear each time i touch... tears of watery grave, emotions of unparallel, fills, trickles and drops. His pages, he cannot see, invisible are my tears aloft, plop soft on his skin. His letters.. submerge, erased by my washing salt.
We both stand on an edge.. signed by a contract.. a book and a boy. How can they both fall in love?... Who is willing to move?
The boy, vigorate his pen on the book? Or the book, living sheets that dances to make the boy follow wherever it goes?
No leader.. No follower..
Just the writer and just the book.
Both fills each other.
Boy writes and shares his world in the fleshes of the pages.
Book allows with love and departs its side of the world and shares it with the boy.
Wow.. a piece of both worlds.
A piece of paper bound by lonely dust. Dust as in TIME....
Who am i?
by :Angel DeSouza
Lost child, lusts?
drowned in the world of creation and imagination..
no more do i want to live in this world. My world alone is beautiful than the world you see.. Reality. Please dont take me there.. i dont know it, i dont know no more. I dont want to know more.
I fear, i cry, i lie, i fight.. where?..Within.
Victim of hurt, Victim of pain, found by the responsibilities of a son, caught and tied by the dreams of my father. Tears shall spill from my beloved mother's eyes, her heart blamed by my father.
I live the world of blames. A world that only love is my redeemer, No God. No Angels. No lovers... My heart alone.
God's there now.
I run, run from whom.. myself.
I was once bounded by the images of witchcraft. happy to my eyes, lord saved me.
He saved me again and again, wiped my tears of grief at his face, he wipes love all over my soul.
Lovers.. pleasures just last for two months... sex and sex,, and lusts rule over me..
Freedom unrevealed, restricted by my soul, me.. who am i?..
i search.. i search,, i cry.. i cut. hearts been cut.
confused, defused.. forbidden..
Last and lest...
now i know.
I am still that same child but no more the same.
Image of a child who roams for someone to love, love to represent as a father..
but no.. im no more. like that..
im changed im an individual hunger to govern me..
knowledge to seek.
no more.. i dnt want to be a alone..
i dnt want to search more..
i dnt want to flirt for lusts..
I want to be.. silent..
i want to be... patient...
i want to sit.
i want to breath.
Above all...
i want to be..me..
Loved.. by someone to eternity.
Lost child, lusts?
drowned in the world of creation and imagination..
no more do i want to live in this world. My world alone is beautiful than the world you see.. Reality. Please dont take me there.. i dont know it, i dont know no more. I dont want to know more.
I fear, i cry, i lie, i fight.. where?..Within.
Victim of hurt, Victim of pain, found by the responsibilities of a son, caught and tied by the dreams of my father. Tears shall spill from my beloved mother's eyes, her heart blamed by my father.
I live the world of blames. A world that only love is my redeemer, No God. No Angels. No lovers... My heart alone.
God's there now.
I run, run from whom.. myself.
I was once bounded by the images of witchcraft. happy to my eyes, lord saved me.
He saved me again and again, wiped my tears of grief at his face, he wipes love all over my soul.
Lovers.. pleasures just last for two months... sex and sex,, and lusts rule over me..
Freedom unrevealed, restricted by my soul, me.. who am i?..
i search.. i search,, i cry.. i cut. hearts been cut.
confused, defused.. forbidden..
Last and lest...
now i know.
I am still that same child but no more the same.
Image of a child who roams for someone to love, love to represent as a father..
but no.. im no more. like that..
im changed im an individual hunger to govern me..
knowledge to seek.
no more.. i dnt want to be a alone..
i dnt want to search more..
i dnt want to flirt for lusts..
I want to be.. silent..
i want to be... patient...
i want to sit.
i want to breath.
Above all...
i want to be..me..
Loved.. by someone to eternity.
I go left and You go right
I go left.
My path, chosen by these hands.
footprints walks the shore.. watering bubbles..
lest they wash away, memories...by-gone, sands.
You go right.
Demands, yet defends.. your, oneself.
lips woven with silken threads of water..
yet sooner thou skin, surrounds, like books and pages..
revealing to the chosen, Shed.
I go left.
Another story, Another time.
Chimes- my wind on my tingling sins of imperfections and mistakes.
Life creates another barrier...
yet love shines, destroys my dusted bridge.. lost yet soon find.
You go right..
Lost in loneliness... lest hunger shall u be found.
Bound by the lessons and knowledge that makes u whole.
By the neediness inside u, pour and gush fourth..
ur loving words, free, spilled on my touch, Sounds.
I go left and you go right..?
We have our own ways..
Paths wounded, loves stolen, voices lost.. heart betoken.. broken..
laughs the sound of lusts, and loss.. thunders the sound of unsuccess..
yet we find, yet we found, yet we like, bounded by our contract.
Now we go left and we go right..
singed by heart, never the less, our blood.
i feel what u feel, u feel wat i feel..
simple, yet more..
lonely, no more.
Angelxoxo
My path, chosen by these hands.
footprints walks the shore.. watering bubbles..
lest they wash away, memories...by-gone, sands.
You go right.
Demands, yet defends.. your, oneself.
lips woven with silken threads of water..
yet sooner thou skin, surrounds, like books and pages..
revealing to the chosen, Shed.
I go left.
Another story, Another time.
Chimes- my wind on my tingling sins of imperfections and mistakes.
Life creates another barrier...
yet love shines, destroys my dusted bridge.. lost yet soon find.
You go right..
Lost in loneliness... lest hunger shall u be found.
Bound by the lessons and knowledge that makes u whole.
By the neediness inside u, pour and gush fourth..
ur loving words, free, spilled on my touch, Sounds.
I go left and you go right..?
We have our own ways..
Paths wounded, loves stolen, voices lost.. heart betoken.. broken..
laughs the sound of lusts, and loss.. thunders the sound of unsuccess..
yet we find, yet we found, yet we like, bounded by our contract.
Now we go left and we go right..
singed by heart, never the less, our blood.
i feel what u feel, u feel wat i feel..
simple, yet more..
lonely, no more.
Angelxoxo
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Kasama sa Duguan ng Ilong
dalawang beses pa lang ako nakikipag-usap kay Angelo, isang ka-chatmate na nakita sa tagged..ayun englisero pala ang loko at di ko talaga naiintindihan kadalasan ang kanyang mga sinasabi....
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