Dream

Dream

My heart was empty
it never been happy
Then you came
you were just a dream
But now you’re here
magically appear
I couldn’t believe you’re finally mine
my love for you will always shine
I want you, I need you, I love you
it’s all because of you
You’re the song I’d love to sing
you’re the one who mend my broken wing
You light up my life
all the darkest times turn to bright
Hold my hand forever
let’s take this journey together
I’ll be there by your side
until the day I’ll become your bride
You’re an answered prayer
like in fairy-tale our story has a happily ever after

dream-poem

Poet’s Note:
I always write a sad poem, because I have a broken emotions and lonely past. But,this time I’d love to write a happy poem, the one that is full of hope and love. Having a strong faith to make one’s dream come true. Waiting for the right person to come to my life, praying for him to love me back after so many years of waiting.

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A Sniper or Suicide?

A man standing in the woods, thinking about his life. Watching people wonder about their lives. He could not think what to do, life to him is not so important as he once thought to be. Hiding from society, hiding from himself a coward with nothing else to live for. With the final bite of his food he decided what he would do. He has thought about it for long enough, he has thought about it through and through.

If he couldn’t be happy no one should. He raised his arms steady and sure closes one eye and squints a bit. He saw a man happier than him. A man who was a totally opposite of him. A man with honor, courage, and full of hopes and dreams.

Then he took a deep breath, then he held it. Sweat was rolling down his head, thoughts race through his mind. He squeezed his finger, jerked back, a loud pop was the only sound. Metal ripped through the air turning about. The metal ripped into the skull and through the brain of the man standing there.

sniper-suicide

 

Author’s Comment:

In this short story, who do you think  a man was? Was he a Sniper shooting a happy and innocent man, or was he a desperate  man committing Suicide?

Rage

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My parents and I get along most all of the time. It’s been that way ever since I can remember.
One day, I was bouncing a ball in the house to make my sister not be able to hear the television. She told my Dad, then my Dad told me to stop.

“STOP IT!”

I heard my Dad, but I kept doing it. Most of the time it would be no big deal, but he had been going through a lot of problems and a lot of stress.

“GIVE ME THAT BALL!”

I started to go out the front door and was going to play basketball. But my Dad, got in front of the door and told me to give him the ball.

I turned around, and was going to go out the back door- at that point he was unusually mad. He raised his voice when I was almost to the backdoor.
“GIVE ME THAT BALL! DO YOU HEAR ME??”
I bounced the ball as hard as I could on the floor and it hit the ceiling. I caught the ball but my Dad grabbed it too and ripped it out of my hands and told me.

“DON’T MESS WITH ME!!!!”

That was strange because my parents have never done that before. They were always calm and I’ve never seen them yelled at me.

There were four rows of new windows all leaned up against each other about to replace my windows in my room. I put my first throw every single one of them in one swing.

I breathed heavily through my noise. I felt my hand was painful. It was bleeding…

Split

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*Split*

Broken memory
Worn out discretely
formed from misery,
tortures and traumas burst rapidly
Damaged soul
vanished as a whole
Fragments gets loony
shattered in agony.
Is there any piece missing?
We are still searching
looking for a trail
to comprehend
Every mystery has its end
We found the lost page
a magic key
to see ourselves completely free***—***

Peacock

img_20170202_142117

*Peacock*

I never try this pencil
to sketch any kind of portrays
decades had become totally idle
Tracing those curves and edges of pathways
But, I’m still afraid of what it might look like
In my dreams, I saw this beautiful and multicolored peacock
It gives me a stronger wing,
and greater hope to wander every colorful morning***—***

 

Comment:

I really love to draw, but I was really scared to try. After twenty years I finally let my pencil sketch a beautiful and colorful portray. I’m so happy  that I finally did it.

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