Michael Vincent D...
|Nothing is more exciting than thinking. I think to set my pen on fire.|
(A Second Ode)
Your hands. Oh with your nails I'll start.
Can you paint it red next time? Oh I forgot. Red in red nails? So redundant. But I won't mind. They're the eye-catchers I notice each time you say "Hi!" and you say "Goodbye!"
And oh, that was on a Monday morning! That moment when the lift's door swung open for me. I was looking down and waiting, the sight of my shoes in my peripheral. Then as I stepped out I looked up and saw you waving at me, armed with that full smile. And like a kid you were giddy - for five long enduring seconds.
In your hands I see the thousand words you've written, the proses and poems that left me at a loss and daydreaming, with breaths tota...
The first ray of sunlight passed through the window sill to wake me up.
I opened my eyes.
I did the first thing I do when all is yet silent - think.
I think to find a word that is closest to my heart and I find nothing better than your name.
It is still Friday but I am imagining the look in your eyes or the touch of your hands once our paths cross again.
I began wondering what it's like to be in your arms once more and stay by your side with no thoughts of a hundred miles between us.
I remembered everything all at once, but I've forgotten the days that were nothing like today, when I'm missing you so much and there is no other way to describe this feeling.
A Woman By the Shore
Before the sun sets she comes by the shore with nothing but her heart, yearning to see him again, where the waters that traveled from afar meet the dry coast.
She walks slowly, her eyes looking beyond every step of her feet, trying to feel the void of emptiness, as the edge of the sun kisses the end of the sea.
She is alone and hers are the only footsteps treading the path where she can find in the end the vessel of the finest sand.
The waves howl while she stoops down to gather a thousand grains of her ink, with hands as her pen and the darkness of the shore as her paper.
She begins pouring them out and each grain battles the blow of the northern wind, ea...
Mine’s mind’s wandering in the great open.
Fingers so many, my toil has frozen.
Great battles I won in this tiresome day.
Everything I did - yes, everything but play!
Set I my strides in the big and noisy street.
Below the towers’ rims, the moon is lit.
All of chaos stops not the chattering.
I mind it not to pursue my wandering.
Already it is the second watch of the night.
All’s filled with lights so dim yet so bright.
Lift, thrust me up by a notch of a dozen two.
I see you, like a dream that just came true.
Grasping a silver key, I go for the door.
Slowly, you enter and welcome me once more.
The one and only floor onto you is creaking.
Your simple e...
A prose with no strain.
A face with no name.
A photo with no frame.
A rose with no scale.
The latter is...
held by my fingers,
hidden by my palm,
and hoisted by my hand.
Shall I give this rose that soon shall wither?
Shall I flick it over to a wandering critter?
-Michael Vincent dela Cruz-
Sadder Than The Saddest Words
For so long a time, there are four words I can think of that elicit the most measure of mental disturbance and emotional chaos more than any other words that currently exist – what-if and if-only.
But I guess I was wrong with my assumption. My ignorance was shredded by a single gradient.
A new found knowledge made its way amidst my dauntless quest for unlimited information.
I discovered that indeed, there lie two words that are sadder than what-if and if-only.
I saw that what-if and if-only are different but they have something in common - if.
If I could take "if" to mean something, it would be "InterFusion".
By interfusing the two, therefor...
A Shivering Man's Quiver
A sunny day proffered darkness kissing every inch of thy skin,
With every pore yielding to the fondness of thy emptiness,
With every finger endearing thy hair in a plowed field of rational ambiguity.
A scorching heat lingered through thy scalp,
With its coldness trapping thy body with an ever intimate embrace.
Thou lie in wait for the perfect moment after a long trudge in a desolate land of emotional ambivalence.
Thou steadfast tread marked the ancient path to the troughs of thy heart,
With each mark pursued by thy trembling feet near the appointed season of drawing thy arrow.
Thy hand tottered as it clenched a slender shaft with its tip causing t...
The Stained Ceiling
It will never be silent where he is lying,
For a thousand voices gang up shouting.
The sound of soldiers comes marching.
Hooves of horses are stomping.
Rolling wheels of chariots from a distant land,
Chiseled only by best smiths are sleek and grand.
A few more gaps and come clashing is a manifold of swords.
Wounds and bruises be the fruition but barred by the power of words.
Before a number of innocent lives are taken,
He looked up and saw what time has eaten.
They're spread and cast off seeming dirt.
Like stars in a galaxy are their size and girth.
As though a jest from nature in such a moment,
His curiosity is what he will dare augment.
Where Rainbows End
I escaped your chases as I hide away.
Catch me with your loveliness.
Let your enigma freeze my breaths left,
until all our heaves halt.
Dance up in my world;
adore my embrace as we move around.
Hold me tight before I am no more,
until now becomes forever.
Nothing else matters,
for I am yours and you are mine.
Time rained a hundred sorrows,
but you raised a million suns of joy.
The rainbow colors you spread
have rays of love I long pursued,
rushing through my fingers,
and ending to my heart.
-Michael Vincent dela Cruz-