Just some old poem I wrote when I was 13 I thought I’d put up. It’s bound to get lost sometime in the future when I throw out this old computer. Maybe I’ll look back to this poem one day and laugh, and I’ll be happy too since I learned something from it.
Dedicated to whom if I, myself am reading this, I should know. If I don’t, then the wings of time have over flown the wings of memory. But to this person who once reigned my imagination: I hope you have found your happiness.
The tap of your foot,
The nod of your head,
The twist of your hand as your eyes gaze ahead,
The wisps of your hair,
Like translucent curtains to your eyes,
Swishing and swirling as your smile caresses air,
The flicker of your gaze,
Which my eyes dutifully followed,
The resonating tones of your voice evaporates in a haze,
The sweep of your hand,
As you bow, then stand,
Intoxicating… Mesmerizing… Captivating…
Your presence encapsulating… Enchanting… Enlightening…
Tell me… Why do the roses look so pale?
Have the threads already strangled them so?
Pull me closer… Allow me to bind our hands together,
So our hearts are free to ebb and flow,
Like the fluttering plumage of a hummingbird’s wing,
Intertwined together, intertwined together,
Higher, higher they’ll soar and sing,
Until I shall soon scorn the wealth of kings.
But alas… My hands are too clumsy and rough,
With the distance of a breath of a feather’s tip,
The threads snapped and crumbled to bits of dust.
Please mend them… Only you can… Smile, even just a bit.
Maybe you didn’t notice how I stood up when you played,
Maybe you didn’t realize the whisper in your direction I gave,
My mouth was moving but no words came,
So the threads remain untouched… Slightly ruffled, they sway.
I dream, I dream of seeing you again,
Until my dreams lead me to my wit’s end,
Do you even know my name? I would ponder before sleep,
Do you know your name reigns my endless dreams…?
Eyes are blind, but true are hearts,
But from the mind imagining starts,
Forming an illusion, a distorted reality; it seems,
In the end, a dream is merely just a dream,
Drawn from invisible threads in the air,
I wish I could imagine, but I can only dream,
With just a scratch of hope, or wild chance that we’ll meet
Just once more, like a lone red flower in a field of green.
A singular red, yes, but with that I still dream,
I dream until my reality becomes a dream,
Wandering aimlessly, but you, I still don’t see…
In your eyes I see a reflection of myself; I foolishly dream,
How can I know when I have yet to look within them?
But give me not a flower, if not a seed,
So it will be precious to me, and I’ll nurture it with my dreams.
For if you want a flower, then peel my heart,
Thin as tissue papers, layer by layer,
Arrange them into a budding bloom, a work of art,
But by a glass pane, our threads are cut apart.
Give me not a picture if not a blank paper,
Pictures lie, but with paper I can imagine rather than dream,
Ah! But even these thoughts are only fragments of my dreams!
My precious, precious dreams, my secret reveries.
My heart felt heavy as you left the room,
Words unspoken bind my lips together,
I can only express them to you in my dreams,
Your hazy presence like a hand to a cheek.
Please… Soar! Over fly the wings of time!
Catch me with your outstretched wings,
Or else let destiny or fate intervene,
Until then, I’ll be hanging by a thread of a dream…
…I don’t want to forget you