|Posted by chinkeeyong on April 9, 2014 at 12:10 PM||comments (0)|
The ways of Father Time are cold:
But few outpace his heartless tide.
It takes a certain kind of bold
To turn back Time and break his stride –
For selfish passions, fleeting dreams
We crossed forbidden threads of Fate,
Reality's eternal seams
We never were to bend or break.
Remember all the things we lost?
A birthday gift, a kiss in rain:
Time took these things from us in cost,
But after we found...Read Full Post »
|Posted by chinkeeyong on April 8, 2014 at 10:55 AM||comments (0)|
Stage lights up. Curtains rise.
Camera pans. Wire string.
Dolls descend. Shiny eyes.
Painted lips. Voices sing.
Colors bright. Music plays.
Audience thick. Puppets thin.
Synchro dance. Matching face.
Plastic flesh. Porcelain skin.
|Posted by chinkeeyong on April 7, 2014 at 6:05 AM||comments (0)|
In most affairs of State I find
That states are libertine:
They liberate unwelcome minds
With well-placed Guillotine.
|Posted by chinkeeyong on April 6, 2014 at 11:50 AM||comments (0)|
Writing talent drought!
Verse rationed commodity:
Be patriot, conserve.
|Posted by chinkeeyong on April 5, 2014 at 10:15 AM||comments (0)|
Once upon a time, there lived a melancholy Poet upon a hill. The Poet was sad because she knew not the face of true art, and could not discover the answer no matter how she tried.
One day, the Poet came upon a Songbird in her musings, and decided to consult the Songbird for advice.
"Pray tell, sir Songbird," she asked with sorrow, "What makes a true poem?"
"Ah! that is a good question," the Songbird sang. "A poem is defined by meter and...Read Full Post »