In Time. *






In time, this will be forgotten

in time, the letters will remain unwritten,
as though severed from memory;
an ember thought, but not given flame.

it was unexpected, but not sudden,
anticipated, but not really something to look forward to

like the coming of twilight -- you look for the moment
when day turns to night, never seeing till it's there
rolling over you, heady, yet soft, a light touch
marred only by the blinking lights at my sight's edge,
reminding me of the day's work at end
and of the importance of forgetting.

and only in time, forgetting becomes real
and change -- foe or fiend,
but all too reckless and demanding,
will hold sway.

because all it is, is memory
of talking, laughing, enjoying company

and in trying to forget, you've come alive
everything is cast in an amber light,
and suddenly giving more meaning

to the talking
laughing
enjoying your company.

but in time, you'll see
the letters won't be written,
the thoughts dispelled
the memories tucked away
so that i would forget

and fall in love all over again.




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* Ongoing revisions.






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the day of four summers.*





that day, the day of four summers
past, scintillates clearly so that
the other days that led to it
and the days in its passing
are dry leaves tossed and strewn across the ground
by a playful, teasing breeze.

that day, the day of four summers
was my life coming to an end
of a new birth; of knowing no other life before

sorrows are left to fend for their own
regrets are left somewhere, unnecessary
guilts, all true sins of the past, burned off

because on that day of four summers
i knew no more sorrow,
no more regrets,
only guiltless bliss.

for on that day, the day of four summers past
you came like a playful breeze
to tumble my days like dry leaves
you swept my days away like acacia leaves,
mere playthings to your nature

on that day of four summers
i reveled in your touch --
the wisps of your hair teasing me,
light touch of your lips caressing my cheek,
your embrace a cool respite from days before,
and so welcomed, in days that followed.

it is four summers today
and my head inclines to the beckon of the breeze
i return to the day, as the tiny acacia leaves
browned by four summers tumble away,
mere playthings in your blissful nature.













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*in transit; ongoing rewriting. (penumbra: something i picked up from tonton and kei)


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