moving on is such sweet sorrow....

i've always wondered at the phrase "sweet sorrow". i tend to think it is an oxymoron. how can a sweet thing be so destructive? how can something that hurts you be sweet in any way?

FRIEND

Friend,
How could you?
Leave me here
No one to talk to,
As you sit
Far, far away,
Among your birds
Whistling a tune
Tht they twitter, too.
Friend,
How could you?
What are they for,
Everyone’s friends,
If the one
Who means the most
Isn’t there?
Friend,
How could you?
Last time I saw you
The Change
Was all I could see.
You’re different.
Why is that?
Aren’t you supposed
To be there forever,
Always the same
In my eyes?
Friend,
How could you?
How are you
So happy now
Without me?

~Originally for Kate, and now for Manda as well

i wrote this originally for another friend who moved away. but it seems like it is appropriate even now, several years after i wrote it.

ah me. life's sorrows are no less entertained than by the attention we give them. if that makes any sense at all to anyone else but me.

words that speak to you....music is the perfect vehicle for them....


"everything" by fefe dobson

"sometimes i give into sadness sometimes i don't
....but if you're ready to be my everything
if you're ready to see it through....this time
and if you're ready for love...then
this i will bring....
and i'm not gonna wait for you forever....this time...."


thats the first line of the song and then the chorus. no one sue me for liking the song, it just described my feelings right now.
(thank you manda for introducing me to fefe dobson's music)

i wish i could put into words the way fefe sings this song. she seems to sing from the heart and the mind, both idealistically and from experience. her songs are a reflection on my own life - sometimes quiet and heartfelt, other times outrageous and bold. i don't mean to sound like an advertisement, but sometimes music just does that to you....

three separate poems i wrote in the last year or so. they're inspired by poetry.com's poetry in motion contest held everyday online. the last is my best, the second is my favorite, and the first is the accurate description i've made of how writing makes me feel.

They surge forth
Flowing calm river
Mind tide
Babbling streams pour thought
Through in words

These mirroring perceptions
Unbound conformity
Glimpse blank rooms
Break their foundations
Name the graffitied place
Pain reverberates within you

I sing the day alive
Full with the life of breath
Reverberating
The energy of light

one important fact that i've learned today: sometimes friends doesn't mean forever; it's relative and conditional.

pessimistic attitude today. i can't but think that sometimes people are so full of what they've been taught, and not what they've learned.

maybe i'm just being very naive. i guess everything everyone does is only for personal benefit. but then again, one should never lose hope.

you know how life just sometimes sucks?

sometimes i wonder if how i feel is so different from everyone else. from the beginning, we are taught that we are unique, special, unusual. but in the end, does that make us feel more isolated?

this is probably why i'm starting this thing. i always wondered what would happen if one day, someone across the world, someone i didnt know and never would know, read what i had written. can you imagine? (i know i'm getting in over my head here, but oh well.) this is why i love the idea behind books, movies, the media. imagine how much is achieved just because of words.

my favorite websites, for those who might be interested... they might help you think...
http://www.poetry.com
http://www.fanfiction.net
take a look.... but be careful, you might get addicted....

The Last Breath

The breath in my lungs runs short
and I cannot but think
that this is the end.
How could it not be?
The excitement alone could kill me
and who am I to defy fate?
My feet move to some inner beat,
one that doesn’t require rhythm,
skill, or anything but energy.
My mind works with the sound
of a thousand drums, each
pounding to its own rhythm.

The breath in my lungs runs short
and I cannot think of anything
but the cool calm and pleasure of sleep.
The eternal peace and sleep
of death unending.

a poem by me

this is only the beginning....

i know that many people have blogs and webjournals out there all about themselves, and probably this will be another one. but on the other hand, it very well may not in the end. i say let's find out....

but it isn't the end.....