The Nostalgia Settles

Feeling no regret for late nights.
A fleeting tinnitus to write
The games of old...
What joy they hold...

Improvised at the last second.
Surprised by the words beckoned.
The memories of the past...
Inscribed to forever last...

When I arrive at thoughts of her,
A faded convivial feeling occurs.
The games we would play...
Hold true to this day...

When I think of my other friends,
How the memories do blend.
How they seep from my mind
Into fiction they're entwined...

The Nostalgia Swells

The quick glance, the stymied smile
Those brief moments erstwhile
Always under evaluation
Inveterate hopes and expectations

From the lens of a stolen moment
I found proof of your involvement
I see hints of its actuality
Against imagined practicality...

Mnemonic frequency increases
Reset the board and its pieces
An idioglossic glance
Affirmed I had a chance...

The distant birds, the lapping waves
I hear you in my mental caves
From the echoes of recurring thoughts
The nostalgia swells, the mind is wrought.

You were glowing in the firelight
On that warm but ever distant night
Worlds shifted when I heard you sing
A simple and wondrous and beautiful thing...

Now I wonder all the time
Were those the days of our prime?
Let's look to what the future holds
As we've a while until we're old.

The Nostalgia

A memory, a clear dream

A dripping cone of ice cream

Days so windy they would hurt

The seas of gulls in a desert

Greetings with outstretched arms

Now we're safe from harm

Friends and borrowed hats

They could never relate to that...

Background discussions over wine

Sitting on carpet while we dine

Laughing at the top of our lungs

Our silly jokes and puns...

A car ride while it snows

Tired eyes and a runny nose

Unsaid words, a warm touch

Didn't have to amount to much

One of these days I'll think of you

I'll think of the ages we're coming to

The nostalgia seems so transient
Sending memories off on a tangent...

---

A poem three and a half years in the making, I guess. Well, I wrote it that long ago. Yes, SumodudeSalad is back. And yes, it has a lot to do with my other blog, Sumo Sonatas, being so active. It's kind of an under-the-radar comeback, but I think I'm okay with that. I'm not going to say, "expect big things!" or anything, but you can generally expect to see more activity here (especially after all that Camp Mix hubbub dies down a bit)...

This is the first in a trilogy of old poems I'm planning to post over the next two weeks. After that, we shall see...

The Grid

Battle-ready for re-ignition.
The time we prove ourselves.
Forward through the thick mire.
Let go of our old desires.

You expect opposition.
War's not something I predicted.
Harsh, cruel, often too dire.
I will not let go of what I desire.

One voice mute among the crowd.
Opinions themselves against it.
To be persistent we must be selfless.
Nomadic, a brush on blank canvas.

You imply a fierce grace.
A momentous progression.
Distractions destroy you, leave you hapless.
Where living ignorance brings bliss.

Join us on the grid.
Or lose yourself within your walls.
We'll travel beyond you.
Conquer worlds innumerable.

This is not a matter of choice.
A plan ambitious, but with false-hope.
I can't join forces with ones so blind.
Go on your own. Leave me behind.

Thirteen Years

The first has since faded with a golden tint.

The second was concerned with the U.S. mint.

The third stands proud with its squeaky-proof walls.

The fourth was overshadowed by the approaching fall.

(The fifth didn't happen in the usual sense. It's best to ignore at the listmaker's expense.)

The sixth year was longest, but came and went so fast.

It has left an impression that is sure to last.

The seventh remains impressively weird,

Filled with owls and horseflies and invisible beards.

The eighth was definitely not long enough,

It cannot be defined as just "riddles and stuff.".

The ninth will forever stand on its own

As the year when the light of the Wenis was shone.

The tenth year saw fit to amaze and confuse.

It's as poignant and passable as a scar or a bruise.

The eleventh, like a dream, felt impossibly right.

'Twas lazy and pleasant; condensed to one night.

The twelfth, it seems, was a year well-spent.

How many can fit inside one little tent?

It was epic and powerful but not very warm.

Having characteristics of a great thunderstorm.

On the thirteenth year, I regarded all these

Whilst munching on whales made from sharp cheddar cheese.

I found it so strange yet relaxing. So hard to define.

It wasn't smooth nor perplexing. Neither dull nor divine.

The thirteenth year was delightful at best.

But how does it stand apart from rest?

While abundantly fun and without a regret,

The thirteenth year was the worst year yet.

Whelms

Thinking, thinking thoughts that could fill a room

Seeking, seeking solace that so many thoughts consume

Writing, writing, waiting for old rhythms to return

Holding, holding hope that not every thought will burn

It surely seems to me

You live in another realm

(Telepathically sending packets of yourself)

That are sure to overwhelm

Thoughts clearly come to you

In a manner apparently strange

Aliens would have a field-day

Dissecting your beautiful brain

On the busiest of busy days

A thought like this still emerges

Causing interdimensional rifts

Within powerful emotional surges

It's weird but on days like these

I begin to move backward

I retreat to maintain what whelms

And become socially awkward

Shaping, shaping sentences out of pieces of ideal words

Laughing, laughing locally at such an over-dramatic nerd

Doubting, doubting defiantly that I won't habitually hesitate

Believing, believing beautiful things will come to those who wait

¡¡Frandere!! (Two)

"We all can attempt to imagine a prosperous future. We can try to envision our incredible home system as a 'utopia'. But we will never succeed. Never entirely. We can never clearly imagine anything that we have never experienced..."

...Blah blah blah blah blah...

"…I believe in attainable perfection. It is within our grasp. It is inchoate even as I speak..."

He's beginning to sound preachy. I suppose he always sounds preachy, but... Soup.  (Funny. But now's not the time to argue with yourself, Frandere)...

"Unification is our destination. We have seen it happen throughout Quirillia in times of great duress. In times without the apocryphal leaders and esurient businessmen we have today. Do not worry, I will not mention their names, yet I will allow your imaginations to estimate which of my fellow politicians I speak of..."

There. He winks again at his groupies. Laughter fills the audience. I guess it's possible for him to be more direct, but why hasn't he made more enemies? It is rather amazing that he hasn’t noticed me yet. He must be focusing hard on what he’s going to say. No time to be distracted by my presence. And now, for some weird reason, I am getting an uneasy feeling in my gut. And I’m pretty sure it's not those peas I ate earlier.

"Excuse me while I expatiate, but I am going to illustrate…”

He sure likes to rhyme today. But I guess that is okay. Could be worse. He could be terse. No, that wouldn’t be worse, it’d be just fine. Okay, I can see why he likes to rhyme. No, dine. I’m… wasting time? Crackers, he’s better at this than me.

“…and our economies will then dilapidate…” Wait. What’d I miss? “We’d be without an iota of a real, tangible hope.” I think he’s serious now. Well, he’s always serious. But I mean seriously serious. I caught Eathös’ glance right then. He was looking a bit unsettled. He didn’t eat any of those peas, so his discomfort must be from something my father said. This surely can’t be anything good. I should probably be listening, then.

“…like I have said, we are not the only ones with a consistent government. We are not the only ones with seemingly limitless systemic power. As our territories accumulate growth at this rapidly increasing rate, we are bound on a collision course. We cannot slow our expansion, though. That is not what I suggest. If we lose our momentum, they could trample over the borders of our ‘nearly-pristine’ civilization.” Oh, sarcasm. That’s rare. “No, we must channel our ambition with theirs. Steer away from an impending calamity. We do not need a war. They can ally with us.”

They? Does he mean… Myans?! I looked at Eathös. He was shaking his head. Oh. Kararve. Not good.

“Here is my proposition. I do not claim it to be modest, but I do believe it as necessary. As our current rulers are ever-extending our reach without much concern for the well-being of our planetary neighbors…” A few agreeing boos from the audience. This is a point he’s nailed on many times before. “..and our upcoming candidates are recommending our preservation, to momentarily retreat from our expansion in order to preserve the wealth of our high-class citizens…” Many more boos from the audience. Especially from the groupies. The crowd was just loud enough to be cut back into silence when he said:

“…It is all verisimilitude. So I propose… You allow me to run for president.”

And then the room exploded again. I actually had to protect my ears. Yet the screaming and yelling was more focused. It was cheering. Rooting. Now becoming chanting. Unanimous support from everyone, of course. But this is wrong. So ridiculously wrong. He can’t do this! This is exactly the opposite of what he needs to do!

Eathös grabbed my arm and then leaned over my ear, yelling, “You weren’t expecting this, were you?!” Of course not, Stupid! And I wish I could ignore the smell of your breath at time like this. All I managed to yell back at him was, “Let go of me!”. The crowd was still in freak-out mode. I don’t think anyone actually expected him to run for candidacy. He usually openly opposed the idea, stated it as power-hungry. Although, his argument did seem to be sound to those oblivious. As I already knew, he’s the only one who sees the state of Mactcha as it really is. His solution just isn’t the right one. It’s far from the right one.

“Whoa, whoa… Please, please…” His voice temporarily soothed the insatiably insane ones in the audience. “I did not expect such fervent support.” (Ha!) “I mean to assure you – as soon as a solidified, united alliance is formed, I will step down from presidency.” Boos and no’s from the groupies. “But you can rest assured, if I am elected, I will be as efficient as possible. There will be no dalliance. I will not equivocate. I will have one goal. I will stop at nothing to accomplish it. Because our survival depends on it. If we are content with our own obesity, then we are ignorant to what happening right now. Because while we prosper, so does Mya. And we are already competitors. Soon, though, if left unrestrained, our competition will turn to conflict. Our homes will turn to battlefields. But we can unite with them. Before we are too late.”

The ecstatic audience seemed to be shaking the room. Oh, wait. They are shaking the room. They’re not just screaming and fainting and having joyful hernias anymore. They are jumping up and down like one happy mosh…

“This is my aim! With your backing support, we can unite Mactcha!” Another ear-shattering uproar. I’m glad there are no windows in here. “We can join forces with the Myan Empire and repair our collective damages…” Please, Dad. Just stop. “…But I need all of your support. A united front… By show of hands, who here is in favor of my candidacy?” Everyone raised their hands and shouted “aye”. He didn’t ask for verbal agreement, but I’m pretty sure his fans are incapable of not shouting when they’re excited.

“Who here does not favor it?” The audience laughed. But there was a resurgence of rebellion swelling in me. Wait, no, it’s not rebellion. Somebody needs stand up to this. And then he can finally notice me. And besides, he’s a haughty whatever-you-call-it. So… I raised my hand.

The collective shock from those standing closest to me and Eathös spread through the small room quite quickly. All eyes fixated on us. Eathös was shaking his head again, but it was this time directed toward me. And there was Dad – in the center of the stage – looking down at me with that familiar expression of anger and confuddlement. He showed no apparent sign of surprise. So I returned the expression.

I started to taste a lot disdain in the air. I wasn’t too familiar with the taste, but I definitely didn’t like it. Every rabid pair of eyes pierced me with a palpable hate. Eathös was tense. Like how he got tense just before he leaped onto Myan’s faces. Just before imminent danger. Just before… Oh… Kararve…

And that’s when the crowd became a mob. Then there was a loud noise. And I quickly faded from consciousness.

the capitals

there is no way to define it. it's meaningless and yet it's most of me. i cannot fully separate imagination from experience. you have no idea how much this paragraph annoys me.

it's seamlessly flat. perfectly flush. streamlined into my obtuse life. irritatingly obscure. persistently present. it's cdo, of course not. no. it's everything i'm not. it's part of what I am.

for on an average, every other second is a thought of non-worth. wasted time and effort pours into extreme discrimination. it's comical, it's functional. and it's often more than I can safely bear.

i worry over everything. i can't not. but i'm so good at pretending, i'm not pretending anymore. there's always a voice to tell me to start over, to try again. even when I've yet to really begin.

i dream all the time. in the day and the night. i confuse realities with what i know just couldn't be right. so when someone comes to talk to me, i feel i've done it before. yet i haven't. yet i have. yet i haven't yet i have yet i haven't yet i have. i pause and examine my ridiculous thoughts. no, that was in just in your mind. yes, you've paused for too long. no, this isn't insanity. you're wasting time.

Then a moment comes so swiftly and it sweeps me off the ground.

I realize I've been corroding in my own mind.

Unexplainable peace spreads from new thoughts I find.

It's worthy of the Capitals and all the attention I can conjure.

When will I fully conclude that it's completely profound?

I must be slow and lazy for it hasn't happened yet.

The indescribable meaning of this stable mindset.

It's real and tangible and no delusion of grandeur.

In Place

I guess it's something predictable

But I never see it speeding this way

An actual obstacle

I guess it's what I'm about to say

I had to face a question

In the midst of self-doubt

After due hesitation

Was relieved to get out

I think it would be easier

To imagine you as distant

If you weren't so very close to me

If I didn't ever really care

I always swerve to disaster

You said you wished it was different

And every time you redirect me

It creates a stillness in the air

I wonder if I need new friends

Add them to my old

Simple as it should have been

I wonder if I'll fold

I could crumble away... forever

But you'd pick up my pieces

Then glue me back together...

I can't imagine my life

Without your lovely face

Without unnecessary strife

Without you somewhere in place

In these situations I'm relapsing

You know I'm hesitating

I'll lean on you to prevent collapsing

And thank you by not waiting

Ch-Ch-Changes

You may notice that I've tweaked a few things here and there. I also added some new pages: the prologue and first three chapters of what is now the old, outdated version of my book.

If you have a bit of spare time, feel free to read them and possibly critique them at your own leisure. Bear in mind that the first two chapters were written when I was 12 years old and the third chapter was written when I was only about a year older. My sense of direction in these beginning chapters is at best undefined. But the pacing improves later on. The inconsistency of these chapters is the primary reason why I decided to rewrite everything.

I had to deal with nightmarish formatting problems while I converted these to HTML, so I apologize if things don't quite look right on your browser. And... Be aware of pre-laptop crash grammatical errors (especially comma splices); they are frequent.

I will post the next three chapters a little over a week from now. I will appreciate any feedback.

Bored of Memories

Worried for no reason

I will wait until your call

And try to see the substance

Of infrequent future history

I hope for every season

Except winter, spring and fall

Where intrigue meets ignorance

Then creates a fuzzy memory

I would flash-freeze the minute

When I thought I saw a strain

A shard of hope from your innocent eyes

Was it not a kind of ploy?

There is something within it

That I doubt I will retain

My mental board of innocuous lies

Memories I can't destroy

Yet I seem to revive them

Each and every single little day

I instill no strategy to repress

What is often and always a repetitive chore

When I'm here by my lonesome

In the tiniest, least significant way

I loathe the memories I possess

These overwrought thoughts are now a bore

Out of Key

Strange not to wonder
Who doesn't see me
And note my behavior
Fell out of key
With eyes that can pierce
Through the back of my head
But the gaze doesn't meet there
And foolishly I'm led

Try to be honest
In every account
But my reflex resisted
And I wont get it back
With a mind that can wander
Through cities of thought
I wonder how it could be
Basically...
...Maddening
Barely there attached to me...
I'm nearly distraught

See my perfect imprecision
Led out by my own decision
Distanced from my declarations
Not for your unheard ovations

For half of the time
Confusion was spent
I turned on a dime
And away you went
So goodbye to your eyes
In the back of my mind
Just imaginary ties
...Simply
...Inherently
I've fallen out of key...
And onto the line



"...Spilt milk and all that. You keep sobbing over the puddle. Eventually, it'll sour. And that's no fun."
"But I try to see it as a blessing in disguise."
"Whatever floats your boat... In milk."

Origin of Worlds - Part 3 (Thirtieth Entry)

Since I seem to find significance in my decennial blog posts, here I am with the third (and final?) segment of "Origin of Worlds". This has been in my drafts since November 2009. Why did I choose to finish it now? That is an excellent question. Maybe, just maybe, it will be answered by the end of this article...

Origin of Worlds - Part 1

Origin of Worlds - Part 2

In old movies and TV shows, one of my favorite film "cliches" was the classic "troubled writer" or "paper crumpler" scene. This scene would typically involve someone hunched over a desk with a pen or a typewriter. He'll write a few lines, get frustrated, crumple up his sheet of paper, throw it behind him, and then start on a fresh sheet. He'll do this over and over again until he either runs out of paper or patience, or until a "eureka!" epiphany (eurephany).

My numerous bags of scrunched, crumpled (scrumpled) papers prove that I can very easily relate to those troubled writers. Half-used papers of incomplete paragraphs of various random topics are stuffed around my typewriter (and provide it with a sufficient amount of hobo-grade insulation). I have many journals and notebooks with sporadic scribbled sentences scattered across their pages. Almost exactly fifty percent of my blog entries have been derived from one of these scrumpled papers in one way or another.

For as long as I've had my typewriter, I've only used it to write these snippets. I have never used it to write any sort of longer piece like a complete short story or a chapter of my book. Only snippets. Seemingly randomly assorted bits of information. I don't really do this on purpose; it's just a pattern I've become accustomed to. The rhythm of clicks and thuds from the pattering of keys and typebars onto ribbon spool onto paper is like a metronome for thought. It's easy for me to continuously type to this without stopping. Once my brain juices are flowing with enough current, I switch over to my laptop and write in my book, taking advantage of the creative momentum I've mustered...

Typewriters are superior word processors, really. But I'm lazy and pampered to the perks of using a computer. When I'm on my laptop, I constantly switch between whatever I'm writing in one of my books and the Worlds Wiki to check for accuracy in facts/change facts to my liking...

Worlds, as a whole, is in an interesting place as of now. Nothing is safe from a complete revamp, it seems. I have been considering to completely rewrite STU for quite a while, and Josh's Terra Eversio storyline is constantly being reformed...

As the origin of Worlds has already been summarized in past entries, I am finding it hard to tie in what I've written so far with what I'm yet to write here. There is a correlation between my current typewriter dependence and the past origins of my fictional universe, but I can't seem to locate it. Hmm... Perhaps I am much like Frandere this way. I seem to have lost my point. But if I'm really like Frandere, I'll find it again before too long.

I don't know how far my book has strayed from the plot of the original STU, but I know that the gap between the two continues to grow. This is to be expected as I'm trying to tie my own storyline into Terra Eversio as best I can, and so changes to the mythology are rather a given...

I have decided to completely rewrite (or "reboot") my book to procure steadier consistency and maximum coherency in plot. There are many reasons why I've chosen to do this, but it's mainly because I'm a perfectionist who dislikes the inconsistent quality of the pacing of my primary written work. Also, I used too many commas. Once my reboot is underway, I might post the old version of my book on this blog for all to read.

I hope the STU rewrite will hit a better, steadier (bettier) stride that will not lose its focus during two-year-long droughts of hopeless wandering... But I am confident. I will be sure to update everyone with the progress of my book once the first couple chapters have more or less been completely transcribed. See, when I first started writing the original story, I had little idea where it would lead. I had thought about completely rewriting the book in whole or in part many times in the past, and I always thought it was an inevitability, but I never wanted to abolish 4, 5 or 6 years worth of work just over simple feelings of inadequacy of frustration. Now that I have a solid plan for what the first book will be, I can finally say with assurance that a rewrite can and will improve every aspect of the story...

I haven't let many people read my original chapters as I've always been conscious of the possibility that they would become obsolete. This one book could be considered my life's hobby, and I've purposefully kept it from particular friends/critics whose opinions I respect and/or fear more than anyone else's. This isn't to say that I've only shared my book with people I don't care about. I've just been rather stingy, for lack of a better word. Now, though, anyone who asks to read my original story may, within a reasonable amount of time, do so. Because this time around I can tell them to specifically search for every flaw in detail, scenario, pacing, et cetera. And with their feedback I can refine my rewrite into something... more...

The end of the Mactchan Wars led right into the formation of the United Alliance. Terra Eversio happened about 1033 years later. These particular details are relatively new to the Worlds lore. My original idea was that the Mactchan Wars happened thousands of years ago and that in modern day, it was regarded as a legend (comparable to The Odyssey's Troy). Eventually, as Josh continued to elaborate on the significance of Terra Eversio, I kept wanting to elaborate on the significance of my story. But it happened so long ago that it didn't really affect any modern storyline directly...

So I then decided to revise my story. I guessed it would take place about 1200 years before the destruction of Earth. To fit it into a timeline, I had to try to create one; I decided to use the concept of intergalactic "eras", or dynasties, that don't last for any preset amount of time. Each era ended with an important event that affected two or more galactic civilizations. The Mactchan Wars ended the 18th era. Then the 19th era lasted 800 years. Terra Eversio happened on 20.234. It's an imprecise way to measure time, but that's precisely why I like it.

Anyway, to get back to the matter at hand... Well, I guess I wasn't really focusing on any particular topic. I chose to post this entry now because I'm trying to catch up on my many drafts that I never seem to finish. So I decided to put "due dates" on all of my major unpublished blog posts. We'll see how it works out...

I hope that through this series of posts you've come to gain a basic, if uneven understanding of how Worlds came to be and where it's heading now. In the future, this article may be heavily re-edited. We'll see.

Upcoming:
64,508
Infallible Excuse
¡¡Frandere!! (Two)

Again... We'll see...

Strength in Vulnerability

Can you learn new things from your dreams? Or are you technically just "remembering"?

It is easy to doubt the existence of time. It doesn't seem to pass at a consistent pace.

You find comfort only in your sleep. You dread reality as soon as you're awake.

So slow, so slow. Speed up! Speed up!

It's still not ready. Your life is on hold. Your pockets are full. Your mind is cluttered.

They launch yet another satellite. Prepare for liftoff.

Realize the potential of tangible occurrences.

Stand still while the smoke spreads clear.

Mitigate the weightier things.

Drift through the moment. Rest in reassurance.

You were locked up in your mind.

Set your coordinates carefully. Time is irrelevant.

But you held on.

You're in outer space.

Be released. You could still have her.

You could just wait.

There is strength in your vulnerability. Know this now.

Patience is the real essence.

Nothing has ended. It has only begun.

As you quake in her presence.

Corazón Condición

"A silent explosion in the back of my mind burst open a wall that was carefully constructed through meticulous mental exercises that go by the names Ignorance and Obliviousness.

"El amor es realmente ciego... Pero, ¿por qué importa?

"Settle the dust that has been kicked into the air. Focus beyond it... Through the cloud... See what floats on the other side. Try what might not work. Hope it will. Hope it rests. Hope it settles.

"Mi corazón condición... No es tan frágil... Qué no mata lo hace más fuerte...

"Try, try, try. Hope this isn't one-way. Seek approval in affluent alliteration. Prove power in penned phrases. Avoid annoyance. Stay away from irritation. Strive to maintain a steadier status quo.

"I am not fluent in Spanish by any means. This is not a message. This is not an idea. This is the fusion of my heart and my mind. I hope you understand. I don't mean to sound dramatic. But they need to be separated."

Days

It seems like that day once spent with you
Will happen for a second every day until the end

But I loathed the idea that you would become
A tradition to spend for relative eternity

You are not to be a number lost among the days
Eleven twenty-eight is not my burden

Birthdays make more sense to me that way
To mark the progression of our age
And you don't have to wait
You are conscious of nothing

Your mind is nothing but you are part of mine
You are in my today, my tomorrow, my steps onward

Remembrance of gain over reminiscence of loss
Why is it instinctual to cling so tightly?
To protect one from becoming a forgotten thought?
That kind of grip wrinkles and distorts

I said goodbye to you, my friend...
I am not going to hold on...
But I will meet you when you walk again...
And catch up on days between us passed...

Synchronicity

Perfection is another world
Outside our state of mind
But in our moments of synchrony
It is not so hard to find

In those brief moments of ours
We discover immersion
I perpetually endeavor toward
These helpful diversions

You hold onto memories...
I love the way you hold them...
Gripped tightly, yet fondled gently...
Careful not to fold them...

Perfection is an embellishment
What can we be but emulsified souls?
Together in wonderment
Synchronicity within our molds

Question

Poised to form a question
Too early to ask
I gather hesitation
Still, the moment

It is filled with you
It is entranced
A question would off-set
What is balanced

But someday the question
Will escape from my tongue
Out through my mouth
From empty lungs

The silence will stun
You'll be stunned, too
The question, I won't regret
But what about you?

Distractions will have passed
The question ever lingers
The silence won't last
Behold, the moment...

...And trembling fingers

Dramedy

Poems to write to share for free
What friends would like to relate with
Or find some kind of dramedy
And envisage the scenes inside a storm

A vindictive vignettist she proves to be
When friends appraise and adore the myth
Abashed to admit it, I regard the dramedy
As required and meaningless free-form

Probably presumptuous and clearly off-kilter
Distracting, dramatic and surely sarcastic
It's almost not there, this dramedy
The result of contingent explosion

Presenting a challenge, an obstacle within her
Becoming the comedic, strange and eclectic
It's almost gone now, this dramedy
Faded through constant erosion


Can not let it go, so she sets it aflame
I'm finished, put-down and relieved

Cast it out, then reel it back in
-- Now imagine to again begin

Filled with a resolve, malfeasance, contentment and shame...

...This Dramedy is lame.

Old Poems

Fire is fascinating, don't you think?
It means life as well as death.
Smoke is annoying, and that's the link.
It cut off my attempted breath...

Old poems to burn, new ones to share.
New poems are written in bursts.
This should be reverted, yet I don't care.
It feels all too familiar, rehearsed.

We talk in circles, would you not say?
Until one of us spins off-course.
I did not feel the joy that we should have today.
Not joy unfelt by remorse.

Cheer up, now, as I'm sure you can.
Do not believe in the wasting of time.
Insolent once, but in a reaffirmed plan,
I'm currently not wasting mine.