I often think about what in my life I would change
If I were borne again
I wouldn’t change who my parents are
But maybe their circumstances:
They would work well paid jobs
With flexible hours
So they didn’t have to stress about money
And would have the time do more enjoyable things
I wouldn’t change the number of siblings I have
If I were born again
But I would change our dynamic
Our brother would want to spend time with us
We'd get on better and do more with eachother
So no one would feel left out
We'd comfort or help eachother
If one of us was sad
The caribou do not need a reason to go where they are going,
neither does the river.
But when I go to see the caribou,
when I go to walk with the river,
Others ask me why.
Sometimes I like to watch people,
Their every move
Study them until I can predict their next move
And then I scoff because they are all just the same
so predictable
I envy this trait
To be predicted
But then, how could anyone ever predict someone who is not even aware of their next move.
You see a young smile and young love
The perfect idea of a perfect picture only capturing the happy moment
What happens when they grow old?
What if they divorce?
What if they die?,
But that doesn't matter
It never does
For all that matters is the amount of happy pictures of the fake moment
Not the beauty of forever's moment.
The sound of silence
And the beauty in its darkness,
How calming it could be
The power of loneliness
The bright light calling out to you in the darkest tunnel
Yet you couldn't reach it.
The old me was fun
The old me cared for others too much
The old me was colourful
But the old me was silly and naive
To think that I could keep up my facade in a world like this.
Tell me
What should I regret~
Who I am?
Or
What I am not?
Some people wanna feel something
Some don't wanna feel at all
I know where I stand
But where do you?
As any wise man knows
Never pick a flower whose bud glows
The best rose in the garden
To be picked would only harm them
To be kept in a house, in a vase
To watch their beauty go to waste
To keep their beauty to yourself
And watch their petals slowly wilt
Or to be picked and thrown away
Cast to the wind to float night and day
But by morning you'd find
You left them there
Just to die.
When the time has come for me to end
I pray, plant me a tree
An oak, perhaps, with a mighty force
And a voice like the sea
For a tree withstands the test of time
Unwavering in age
Its roots reach deep in nourishing earth
A force without a cage
And when the wind stirs the mighty oak
Its arms dance to the tune
But its deep roots hold it fast to life
Leaving us not so soon
So when I am gone, let me live on
In an immortal tree
I will not mourn the life I have lost
For in this, I am free
Im just like a candle,
I can cause fire very easily,
Yet something as simple as a sigh,
Can blow away all of my power.
A melon sits in a dark deserted room
slow it changes to silt—mold
grows random pock marks.
Inside an inner pocket
lint from your grandmother.
What happens when you don’t care
when squash turns to puddle?
We walk under purple cumulus clouds
dark, like a melon speaks—
change, ubiquitous in worm territory.