Nothing demotivates the soul
Like safety
Keeping you from the wind beneath your feet
The wings beneath your shoulders felt
Just as weeds, the weeds, grow ever still
In their moving way they never break
And our human plot of life is to take
Our hands to the earth in constant misery
Knowing that all things will grow
Both around us and through
All things inevitably will come due

And the earth will continue on, probably long after me
Spinning

Your face was far more pleasing than
The dream of seeing almost surreal
So I slept away and slept away
To see you again
But for the life of me now
In this warm awkward hour afterwards
I cannot remember where I saw your face
The first time and for real

No dream was ever happenstance

maybe if I try to write,
I would feel sincerity again,
drowning into the pages and lines
of truths and fallacies,
maybe if I learn how to dance,
all doubts will shed along with pain,
maybe if I sing a song,
I can compose and express but not to please
maybe if I paint an artwork,
I would accept having you as my lovely subject,
in sceneries of memories, at the stroke of tender nostalgia
maybe if I interfere in the duel of both my mind and heart,
one takes over freely and I venture a new start.

but who am I to even stand armor-less,
battling against the uncertainties?

IA

write me a poem so deeply weaved,
sing me a song that I may learn how to live,
I'm torn in the war of both my mind and heart,
dwelling on the inked pages of crafted thoughts and art.

IA