There’s a tiny person in my eye
who tells me what is true.
It only tells me when you look,
’cause it’s reflecting you.
Tag: Poetry
First Emigrant’s Sonnet
Hello and welcome, Friend, to planet Earth.
The trip was long. Have you arrived in peace?
No matter what our people may have heard,
The battles on the surface have not ceased.
Your safety is my number one concern
So please stay hidden ’til we verify
That during your descent they will not turn
To shoot this vehicle out of the sky.
Awash in blood and smog and swarms of gray,
Their few get fat while many fight for crumbs.
Mankind believes that there’s no better way,
But nature shudders as they beat their drums.
I wish to meet them too, but there’s a need
To wait until the day they kill their greed.
Thy Fearful Symmetry
The untouched, gentle glow of a light cannot show
Where it is, where it’s been, or to where it will go.
I can sense as I stare into wavering air;
In the haze of the heat is a fear of what’s there.
So the brighter we burn and the sooner we learn
Just how quickly the hands of the clock face will turn.
Because fire that reaches its tips to the sky
Always wants to go higher and higher than high.
If I play this old game but don’t play it the same,
Then I’ll pray that there’s hope in preserving this flame.
But if this is instead a false start from the start
Then must I keep the warmth from consuming my heart?
So the brighter it burns, and the sooner it dies
Into coals that are left yet unseen by your eyes.
But these coals touch my lips, which then burst into praise
To rekindle my soul with a powerful blaze.
Because fire that reaches its tips to the sky
Will be met with a truth that all fires must die.
Marionette
We know all that it takes is a touch and a tug
On the strings of the heart, but it’s never enough.
I might jolt and rebound as the fibers cling on
Making marks on my skin as the curtains are drawn.
Do you want me to dance? Do you want me to run?
Am I stuck in a trance that cannot be undone?
As my arms limply hang and the music is set
Maybe I’m nothing more than a marionette.
The performance begins, all the people react
As the painted on smile is revealing a crack.
And the tangle gets worse and my mouth opens wide
And the audience peers into what is inside.
They expected a hole, but instead it’s my voice.
They go, “What’s with this puppet? Who gave it a choice?”
But I cannot take back what was already shown.
I cannot lose control of what’s never my own.
Do you want me to sing? Do you want me to see?
When I ask you these things, is it hard to believe?
That I want to live life without any regret,
That I want to be more than a marionette.
Suzugos 