Monday, April 11, 2016


Here I am looking at life from a 'foreign' angle,
As though I am a different me,
A misshapen form removed from the real,
What has become of the once spirited optimism?
That fiery spark that never saw a lost cause,
Or wrong that could not be righted,
Where is that 'little boy' chasing his fairytale...?

These Alaskan skies

These Alaskan skies are deceptive like a woman's eyes,
When she wants to drive a man to sleepless nights...

As is with her, they taunt the mind with thinly veiled lies, 
nine post meridiem made to look like six ante...

And no matter how hard you try,
You fall for it every single time...

Fighting chance

A joyous journey turning treacherous
Could well spell the end to a path,
Not always does it lead to the edge of a cliff...
Choices may have been not willful,
Intentions partly shrouded in mystery,
But causticity only lingers so long in time as consented,
'cos hope is never too far out of reach,
In any outcome, there is hand to play.

So be how battered and bruised,
Disfigured, beat and broken,
If pain clings like the sweet scents of Gardenia,
And breath is felt as chest heaves,
Rhythmic with the gentle throb of that sickly but living heart,
Then life is still more than widow's mite...
Raise that bloodied chin high to the heavens in defiance,
For in every (wo)man, there is a fighting chance!