That swing set in the park by the tree 

Is silently rocking about;

The laughter of cheerful playground

On which your whole world spun around

Is long swept away by the mist,

By arrows of watch on your wrist.

Those memories are feeding the heart

With bittersweet lingering light.

Nostalgic and warm through the night

It’s filling your sleepless dark eyes

With tears you try to disguise.

To brush against smile of hope

That future is destined to bring.


But future will never erase

The pages in your book of time;

Familiar faces of friends;

Textbooks, backpacks and pens

That led you through years of strife,

Through laughter and tears, through life.


This isn’t a time of regret

Or hopeless attempts to forget 

Or chorus of hopeless goodbyes.

It’s time to open our eyes.

And spread our arms wide to the world

Embrace every story untold.

Annul every meaning of distance

Forget the path of least resistance.

Forget our mistakes, and forgive,

And smile at what future might give.

I am an architect

Of life that seems to many as ideal,

Of dreams that only future may reveal

And memories of distant places,

And silhouettes of friendly faces

That past has long concealed.


And here I am alive and well,

List through the pages of habitual existence,

But stories lingering far in the distance

Time only destined me to tell.


I never have relied on sheer fortune,

And fate I’ve never dared to beseech.

My goals are simple, yet materialistic.

I often try to keep them realistic

And free of ends that that I can never reach.

In our daily cycles

Of hurries, errands, and procrastination

We seldom stop and seek the explanation

Of our stance on multiple domains

Of our personas as miniature grains

Of sand as parts of realms in which 

we play our parts.

City Morning

Tomorrow sun

Forgot the stairwells and bleak

Evaporated steam of sewers and

Messages on tar covered walls.


The ones whose flesh and blood

Occupy not only their bodies

But the streets of this abyss

Are there, but not with me.


Those oblong glass shields;

Gunmetal tired screech of brakes

Smell opaque.

Smell boarded-up, forgotten

And foreclosed.


Who designed, destroyed those

city smiles & rustic crowns

And painted this murmur of silent

glass and orange

skies of what has been

but never to return?


My heart is bolted plates of stainless steel

Of rusty indiscernible regret

And tinfoil hats and sheets of copper greens.

The blood is fake and clear.

The ligaments of extra-strength

And movements void of grace

They plague the semitone machine.

The grace is sweet but gone

And rust falls of my digits

Revealing the quality of my build

Rejected by the FCC.

And looks upon my webcam eyes

Of other eyes that die unlike

The circuitry of mine

Which feeds on only time.

Those eyes can only see

That heaps of lustrous rolled sheetmetal

And plastic tubes and simulated blood

And lifeless Teflon-coated heart

can hide a soul.

I don’t really know what I will post here.

I don’t think I ever have anything interesting to say over 140 characters in length. Nonetheless, here it goes again. 

Alright, kids, this is my 6th 7th attempt to blog… Wish me luck!