out of all the games I chose to play
and all the broken hearts, you chose to stay.

not because of me, or love, if that exists.
but because of the game you always wanted to win.

now, I don't dare believe in beginners luck
yet you seem to know how to play this little game

I, carelessly, managed to fall.
You, never even helped me stand up.

I lost at this pathetic game.
You, laughed at my plea of help.

we both know how to manipulate this amusing stance
**but I refuse to lose.

Being politically correct. ..that blue house over there  is red.  We must all agree that it is red...otherwise. ..we are subject to being accused of hating the blue  ( I mean red) house. ..

and

Oh yes,  of course. ..the emperor is definitely  wearing new clothes. ..

can't you see???

cj2016

She shivers as he puts his hand on her forehead.

Ma, you have a fever, he says
and pulls up her blanket.

She closes her eyes to hold back tears.

it's your touch, son, her lips hardly move,
like rain on my arid heart, long awaited,

streams of films roll in her head,
the baby, skin of her skin, blood of her blood,
the umbilical cord never separated,
severed as the baby grew up,
a man of another woman,
the expanding distance
huddling all those cuddles into memories.

It's your touch, my son, it heals.

The son rises to call a doctor.

She knows she has no fever,
only pains of sweet memories.

At dawn
You  see the face
Of flower covered
With dews
There are the tears
On the meadow
At night

Our fresh flower
Have no fear
Of autumn