Envy and many more

I'd like to start this one with that word: "Envy."
That's how I felt; envious.

Envious of those old people with much wisdom attained. With their age comes the vast number of experiences. With those experiences comes the people. With all of this put together, they've attained respect and the attention of those who would lend an ear.

I guess I envy that one old man, because he has changed thousands of lives. He's still doing it. Through the direction of plays that deeply move you. That inspire you. That eliminates the fiction in acting.

I envy him because he's been changing lives, through changing minds and hearts. I've the same voice. The only differences are that; his is louder, his is stronger, his is more persuading, and that his is louder. He is given the opportunity to be heard, through his theatre.

I like his words, they.. provoke ripples.
"A poem is like a pebble dropped in the well of your mind, it creates ripples depending on how wide your mind is."

In my case, well, there aren't any blocks that surround the waters, the ripples never stop.

I envy him because he is eloquent, spontaneously speaking on any topic. While I don't know how many times I've pressed backspace in this composition.

I envy him because he is doing what he wants to do, what he's been moved to do. And he is succeeding with each mind and heart he convinces.

I envy him because he's still succeeding.

I envy him, simply because he's able to make me envious of him.

I envy him, because he is close to Him.



Now we move on to the "And Many More.." part.
When the most beautiful girl asked the lead actor, "Does it hurt , acting?"
He didn't spill a word, couldn't even barely look at her, but he nodded.
Then another provoking question came, "Then why do you do it?"
The actor, looked at her this time, and hands towards the crucifix on the wall in front of the stage, "Because!"

Silence broke the momentum. Then that old man says, "The crucifix is for the actors, and they do it all because they find purpose in it. And something to ask yourselves tonight is if you have your purpose too."

At this story, I smiled. These are the kinds of words that I've been wanting to write, to say.
Sadly, my tongue isn't as sharp-cut as my words. It's too shy, too humble to speak out.
Even if it did say its thoughts, who would care to listen? Afterall, he's just really young isn't he?
He's just another boy, thinking he's a man, isn't he? He's just another trying-to-be-noble soul out there, isn't he? He's just another kid, isn't he?

But, at the slightest possible chance that he isn't Just a kid, not just another one of those who come along everyday, that he is the epitome of rarity, I would listen to him. Anyway, no matter what the odds are, they're still odds. And that there's still a chance, no matter how unlikely it is.

T O M I S S W H A T A G R E A T M I N D W O U L D S A Y C O U L D N'T P O S S I B L Y P R O F I T Y O U I N A N Y W A Y.

It's more often than not, easier to listen than to read. But what's written can always be read again, apparently, what's been said cannot always be heard again.


I'm a hypocrite for saying that I don't like reading long stories, and expecting you to read them. Especially because I wrote some of them.


The loss of a person's individuality, his character that defines him as he, how he is remembered and known, how his tale will be told, is my biggest fear. It's probably because, I won't be seen as an individual, but as merely a guy in the crowd. A person, void of voice.

And many more continues a long lot, but I won't fit them all at one time, that'll be too much.

My mouth is envious of my fingertips that merely spun these words out and have wrote down the script. It's envious because these fingertips don't have to be seen doing so. While he has to be brave and fight all threats that come after his part. That's why, more often than not, he simply relates with matters that aren't of great consequences. This in turn, causes no conflicts nor provokes no harsh words, but attracts those who do not want to be stirred. But every so often, they don't know, he's slipping some words into their ears.



The next one'll be all about you.

Hello

I won't go so far as to say your name, but you're too humble to assume this is you.
So perhaps from all the lines that this inadequately descriptive words have made, there were only a few that've "hit the spot."

And by "hitting the spot", I meant that they have someway somehow managed to rob you of time on earth by stealing a few heartbeats, making it overdue earlier than He had planned it to be.

So you've reassured me that conversation wasn't as awkward as it had been, and at the moment, it had become quite interesting.

As I almost gave up on words, you've made me to cling on to them once more. Again and again, I find myself asking you to give me meaning to write. In a way, you could see it as I have been making a play, actors, being we. Plot, spontaneous because unfortunately, the Writer couldn't control His actors in any way. He had but the power to sprout the plants from seeds. To keep the stars, burning bright. To heal the actors when in time of need, to be an ear, always listening. Sadly, he could not force unto them the "Script" that he had made. An apple had been eaten, sizzling an actor's tongue and instilling in him what we have come to call "humanity" .

I guess that's one way to put the story of our play.

So ask me to find more rhymes,
As to make less unsettling lines.


Forgive me, I've used up some words a while back.

Oh them hearts.

Out of the blue,
I came across you,
Then I found another verse,
In a song that was true.

I've lost count of the lines with the "you" in them, but I haven't lost the meaning each time I read them.

Oh heart and love,
You're perhaps the two most misunderstood words. But you can't blame us, we're too clumsy with our bullets that we call words, hitting a lot of people we didn't mean to hit.

I'll list down some of the colorful ways I've tried to capture your meaning another day.
Adieu.

Tasty words

First of all, Beautiful, it took a lot of holding back for me not to talk to you.
I just had to let that out, hopefully, now you'd initiate the wordplay.


Goodbye Blues.
Hopefully I can make your final song.
I'm kicking you out, I've packed your memories,
Here's the door.

Bitter songs never seem more perfect than in nights wherein you seem to have lost it. Nights that have left you writing those lines to the memories that betray your smile. Songs with the lines "for what it's worth..", "Thanks for the memories..", "And I thought we could..", and thousands more.

Moving on.

I simply don't like rainy days. I like my days bright and sunny. I don't mind drizzling, but please dear dark heavy clouds, don't take away her rays. You shut me down with your cold presence and enormous shadows.

Let's put it this way, you're taking away what gives me reason to live a life with meaning. You're toying with hopes. Empowering the melancholic mood, as you anger the wind's gentle whispers. You taint my bright blue skies with your dull gray cloak, my orange warmth with your colorless droplets of cold.

Dear you, your personality is ever so tantalizing.


A raindrops hitting surface creates a soft sound, not at all annoying. It's the repetitiveness of it that kills me. Distracting my awareness, taunting it to let go of what it was previously preoccupied with. Well, anything that's too repetitive slowly takes away the beauty of itself. The daily habits shred the excitment and the color of your days. Slowly fading its colors away until all you see is gray.

The angels are never forgotten, they've been whispering. My inside source says..
Angels that have fallen have been judged as unwanted, the inverse of the asthete. Does the name Lucy ring any bells? What happens to the have merely tripped, unintentionally? Hopefully they don't end up as instantaneously prejudiced angels. Perhaps they are given a chance to remove the prejudice, a chance to look for their wings again and fly back. Lent a few years, just to see what them angels really are without their blindfolds to keep their emotions in check. By the way, democracy doesn't work here, you can't win your freedom by inadequate judgment from your equals, there's a bigger guy in play here, hopefully there is.

He ended there, but what another guy said to me still bothers me. He said, it was alright for him to go wherever, if there was that destination to go to. Hopefully we don't eternally close our eyes and stay in these hollow shells capable of nothing more than what these weak hearts can manage. I want to be able to feel the things in my dreams, I want to exist there and last there.


Just a random thought before I end, I admire Lois Lowry for her ability to describe a person seeing colors without using the word. To describe something more without being able to show that something more. Grasp what is unreachable. Simply amazing. Now that's something possibly breathtaking.


On a lighter tone,
Cute is what we aim for is still awesome. The song Risque which was previously known as Crush is just too sweet. For whoever be the "you", this one's for "you."

A few memories in print.

Some songs or poems I've written late last year.
I remember all the emotions I felt when I wrote them.
I'm glad I'm only reminiscing now,
I could've been happier, making the right choices.

"With the moon as my inspiration"

G
She made me look at the moon
Cadd9
I'd say it seemed dim
Em7
But I couldn't keep it out of sight
Cadd9 G
Guess what, it brought me a smile

G
Pale and yellow was the mood
Cadd9
That night I fell to a gloom
En7
So then, this pad slid open
Cadd G
Then my words came rushing here

Am
Tonight I'll tell you a story
Bm C
Of how I'd been playing with follies
Am C
And, I'll tell you, yeah I'm sorry
G
For being me.

Verse: G cadd9 em7 cadd9 g
I want to pack up in June
I guess I would move down west
Extend my still quiet warm summer
Until the date's september

I'll learn how to start out good
I'd say that I was trying
Turning over a new leaf for real
Guess what, I think they'll buy it

Chorus Am Bm C Am Bm C G
Tonight I'll tell you a story
Of how I'd been playing with follies
And, I'll tell you, yeah I'm sorry
For being me.

Am
I'd say that the moon
C
Way back in october on the seventeenth night
Am
Was the source
C D
Of my hoping, my changing, my failing

Verse
Because she made me look at the moon
I said it seemed bright
But I couldn't keep it out of sight
Guess what, it brought out a lie.

"So it comes to this"

Verse: Em#-C*-A*-G

So it comes to this,
I'm singing you a song
We're face to face and all
Cause I haven't made you fall for me

So it comes to this
A feeling of a cold kiss
I'm here in a silver mist
I'm just simply lost

Pre-Chorus:C-B#-Am-G

So Let's see
What time has brought for me
What day has shone to me
what the stars have made me see

So let's hope
That something broke my fall
and caught me despite it all
So Tonight please heed my call

Chorus:C-G-Am-G

Cause it has come to this
I've been captured and you made me break
I don't know what else to say
I'm out of luck but not short on faith

Cause it has come to this
I've been captured and broke out a line
But still I hope that you'll be mine
I'm still waiting for that smile

Verse
And it has come to this
I had been counting all these days
Waiting to get to this place
Where I can embrace you so

And it has come to this
Your silence is burning me
With such strength that you'll be able to bend
The mountains that stand against my dreams and me

Bridge:C-B#-Am-G
So let's dance
And sing this ode of romance
This is my final stand
Before I ask you to hold my hand

So hold my hand
And dream about tomorrow
So hold my hand
And dream out a new dream
So hold my hand
Before i lose faith in my bland smile
So hold my hand
After I sing this song for you
So hold my hand
I really want you to
So hold my hand
This is my only request to you
Just hold my hand
Just hold my hand

"A Poem"


As I stayed, I thought, to write a song.
But I failed, arriving home, before dawn.
The clock doesn't stop nor speed up,
It only slows down, and my heart beats thus.

So never have I been less prose in writing,
never running out of words, that I've been finding.

So All I ask,
Is for your time, and your presence,
Nothing more can I ask,
If with these I can bask.

Your presence, as a whole,
Be it by your mind and your soul.
Never does it pain me so,
To see, only one of these you show.

Be it love?
That has caused me be prose?
Be it fear?
That inspired me so?

I stay, for I fear your depart.
Adjacent, I sit, still fearing your depart.
And you asked me, "Never leave me."
But that was before you were with me.

And I told you, "I'll never leave you."
Proved my word to be true.
It was I who ended up asked you,
"Please leave now, why don't you?"

And I said that because I noticed,
The smile you put on, slowly dimmed.
And as it faded away,
So did the one on my face.

Before you go,
I think should know,
The peak of my night
was when our hands fell close.

Fell close just to show,
That my fingers were quite small,
And then they touched,
As I proved they weren't tall.

And it was the peak,
because our hands did meet.
And that feeling of touch
Was one that words could not match.

So Never am I less prose,
Than in mornings after the nights,
Wherein I have done you wrong,
Sorry, now please don't be gone.



I missed all the "you"s in all the songs in all the lines I've written.
Now, when asked who the "you" is, I could only help but wonder who "you" is too.
And I hope you get me with what I just said,
It never really was easy, having kept these things unsaid.