Glen Yumang Manese's Anthology
~ The Onyx ~ Vena Amoris ~
~ of Author ~
~ of Life ~ of Love ~
~ In the Between ~
~ Lies the Dreams ~
Click bar to the right, and scroll down to read
The Onyx - Vena Amoris © 2006
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
I.
The innocent sin of men.
The heart pierces red with blood.
The blade that slices his weakness.
The beginning birth of Eve.
To reign with her glory.
The infinite beauty.
The colossal appearance of women.
The courtship to affection is created.
II.
Shall the poet enrich the onyx.
The precious jewel enhances such blind senses.
The unique holds too close a value.
To the limb, apple, and life.
A simple courage to endure.
A priceless art to cherish.
A sentimental treasure to own forever.
The companion of love eternal.
Excerpt I.
Short, but to the point, the thoughts just come and go in my mind. I’m fortunate to have such talent. I’m being modest so to speak. I hope this poem is a good introduction, until another comes out of thin air. The onyx is a mixture of love and hate. A look back at accomplishments and rejections. I’m going to extremes, no hidden barriers and focus on the failures and relations with the opposite gender. Sad, but true the expression to impress holds truth to the meaning of each vivacious line written about the subject. Each lady is a dream coming to life by the means of a man gone through the experience. The fire burns my will to write, until the moment of justice is served. The woman lurks somewhere upon the horizon. I’ll find her someday, but I’ll be too weak and old to realize the purpose. There will be a redeemer to all the hard aches. The work of a writer fulfilling his need with imagination on paper, no regrets, but the forgotten words to wither like a flower, a flower will be my existence. A woman excepts such a value. Therefore, she knows the delights of men, but once the incense dies, she can no longer merit. The attempt has no texture left to hold, but turn to dust. So close was the flower to her affection. No real exploits, but the degraded humiliation to nothing. To stop and think is a waste of worry, but a brief moment she was made known of a secret. An admirer, but never knowing the outcome gave her worth. “Those who live to wonder just go on wandering in deeper water. They drown to the conflicts of other evils.†The after shock burdens their gullible minds. Their interest lacks so little respect. To laugh the last laugh. To say, no remorse is taken, no, second rations of the abuse will permit to lower standards. In any case, the written work means, but useless literature. Read and weep to all the females who’s graft the unanswered lover. To stop and think is not a waste of worry, but who’s to question?
Memento Mori © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
One day, I will give meaning to my own.
My manuscripts define, will not mend matters.
Like the alphabetical letters,
which form the lines on sheets of literature.
A verse, to the infinitely imprinted.
A paragraph, to the sentences making memoirs.
As the pages of Glen, my valley’s definition to the dead.
Ends my chapters in memories of writer’s inscription.
G lory to the themes in theatrics.
L essons in languages so lovely the linguist.
E ndeavors in engagement to evolution.
N obler are the noted nobles in nocturnal.
Y ields in the times to timeless thoughts.
U nderstanding unity is my ultimate ululation.
M eans nothing without the minds to mesmerize.
A ptitudes in applied admiration of my actions.
N oting the nights never-ending nightingale.
G litters gems in glooms of growth.
M essages in the mind’s memento mori.
A ttempts my amplitudes to amusements.
N eglecting the noises in my nightmares.
E lusive the eulogy of exegesis.
S ights and sounds of spirits surround my soul.
E xits the emissions to my eternity.
A Lover’s Hate © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
God, why have you forsaken me?
Given the ability of words without meaning, the tool of many, but the skills of an individual, tell
the gifted such has a cost.
Why has life left me by, to dwindle in a dimension that has no exits?
The door swivels an entrance, beyond a common nature.
A writer is trapped in a hole of space, never, really, knowing the answer.
Where does the talent emerge?
The words of feelings.
The emotions to release love and hate, due to experience or purely opinion, to justify the haunts
in my constant thoughts.
There is no measure of control.
No line without another to satisfy an end.
They say the pen is mightier than the sword.
Is the writer in equal with his instrument?
In fact, the other cannot live without the other.
Each move is the movement of each spontaneously, if the other dies, the remains live on.
The pen lives infinitely.
Is the partner traded to a foreigner?
A writer is only as talented with his own pen.
The topics are unique and unchanged by the acts of plagiarism.
The rhythm is revealed as a masterpiece.
Duplication does destroy the sentimental value.
The love of lines sends a surge in the veins, to a plain, where limits expand the universe.
The ability holds every object in the palm of one’s hand, holding tightly, in a fist, to absorb and
feed from the literature of each living creature.
So vast a subject and so little time.
So many words waiting to be discovered.
A biological clock ticks away the brain’s strength.
Knowledge can only be isolated a brief century.
The crude chances of failure take into effect.
The statement to inscribe becomes weaken.
The thought process is bewildered by absentmindedness.
There is no endless line to word the phrase.
An understanding by the poet.
The answer is too vulgar a tone.
The evitable defeat of man.
Is so a bigot to life cursing to a earthly hell?
Be there is a celestial heaven.
Rush to the open gates.
Fear the fever of youth descends, age plays to short a game.
No sooner is the birth of men.
No further is death.
The accomplishment to achieve is blown into a vacuum.
A pitiful darkness never to express their freedom.
Who is condemned?
The ultimate utopia falls to a lover’s hate.
Mindful Critic © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
Trust me, this gets better.
So, why do you question?
The why question?
Hear me, out.
Your such a mindful critic.
Why do you write, your words?
What will make me read your work?
Give me a recipe without every tasting the food.
Just like my words never leave the confines of my mind.
So why are the born living?
So postpone death to be called the living.
A writer becomes his own.
Just as a talent transforms a sport.
A Michael does become a Jordan through practice, so twenty-three becomes a Chicago Bulls.
A Babe causes a Ruth to be a Yankee.
A Joe is a Namath of his football, not by chance.
A Wayne Gretsky hits a puck to turn into hockey.
Becoming the print calls the person.
So a magazine becomes a Playboy.
Hugh is no longer a Hefner, but an icon.
The camera takes a picture and becomes the Marilyn.
Changes the name to be the Monroe.
Two set out in Ohio.
Now, everyone sets out to be Wilbur or the other called Orville.
In some way or another becoming a Wright.
The lone ranger no longer rides his horse.
The duke has bid farewell, John Wayne was his name.
The Indian cycle rumbles the country side.
Just as the Harley becomes the American appeal.
As a Ford or Chevy take replacement.
A Lincoln or Cadillac.
Though most crave the imports.
There was once just the radio.
Communication becomes the television.
As the Internet controls the world.
A cell phone rings.
As another texts his words.
A foot solider fights a war.
A mother must tell her daughter, why daddy is not coming back home.
A child once played in the park.
Now, he’s living in a nine by six cell.
One pill cures a life.
Many more replicate the name.
History would not be learned, but the idea to look back intrigues an individual.
Mathematics came by way to give value, but now all runs by numbers.
Science looked us in the eyes at night, before ever landing on the moon.
Reading would not be a meaning, until the words could be decoded to make a language.
Does not make any sense?
Why question the why question?
Every person began with a spark of a dream, so a story will be told to others.
Just like your question.
Indeed your interest to go this far to read my gossip.
So there is a why to the value of interesting conversation.
So, now as your driving down the road of forks.
Do tune onto the station.
A writer would not be without wanting something to tell.
Some now and then.
Canvas © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
People will appreciate a composition first, but not delve beneath the skin’s surface
The one behind the canvas does not matter
The canvas portrays the truth, an honesty people striving in the portrait of life
Seeing just half the picture is enough to distinguish a person
Just like a book
They will know the title of an epic
No one knows the author, but the words were absolute to the moment, until another challenge begins to take control of the situation
Like a movie does not become a Oscar without the lines which made the success
Just like in life
An average joe will be just novice, but put him in a category of success, icon just became the
status
The individual becomes the wanted in a blink of one’s eye without ever knowing the person
The girl wanting all her life becoming a model of perfection is just as real as the girl who never
tries
Not the situation or is her goals just the same in becoming something altogether
The canvas changes to each person in every direction, but is totally a picture in one’s view
Making for the whole picture, but not the person
Reality hits only when the glory becomes the famous in which everyone is looking is the star, does someone put themselves on check
A moment to realize the success is a constant burden
Decomposition blurs the canvas
The girl next door is just a waitress
Make her a image of value
The whole meaning changes the view being a sex symbol
A symbol becomes the woman
Not the meaning to the society
The status is the symbol, but meaningless as the canvas is the failures to keep success
A writer comprehends this idea, but falls in the same category
If the words fail to keep a reader to keep reading the lines
The whole meaning to read becomes the absolute, nothing
The words being of no interest
A canvas is what makes one’s identity
Always willing the mind to do more and know who the real being is in the canvas
I’ve, but a canvas that no one knows, yet we go great lengths to continue even if the artist that is behind the success never meets the struggles of a canvas
Rise of their Feast © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
In the water’s circle.
I have gone through walking the land.
Under the seas, swimming my hours to accept my double life.
Knowing the outer shell which protects the harshness of environments.
My inner body, soft to the others calling themselves my food chain.
Keeping in close quarters to the rise of their feast.
As I grow within the size and mass in such harshness of conditions.
I keep in mind to the everyday daunting question.
Hiding in the boroughs of the sands.
In the crevices which keep my life private.
As those search without the right to call me, friendly.
I would accept the simple life.
I have become the importance in my actions.
I call to the makers of the stars.
Simplicity was once a tortoise shell.
As I glow in the demise color of a red carpet.
The leather is not so fake.
The skin which I now wear effortlessly to cause much affection.
Could I go back to the times of Christmas Day?
Or the Thanksgiving before the glamour of success?
Can New Year’s last drop of Time Square equal the delights I remember with those, that truly called me, friendly?
I feel in the recycling rewind of the movies.
I’ve acted every character.
Every syllable to the putting green tee.
I’ve become the Tiger.
The Jordan.
The Mohammed.
Even the less noted of characters.
Meeting the most famous of models.
The political relics.
The musician or the artist.
The laughter of comedy.
The clothing line of New York City.
As I watch the times of war release in the news.
The charities asking for money.
In the events that cast me to be the status.
Volunteering my responsibility to society.
Could the clock ever bounce back to the 1st birthday?
Or just stop for a breath to understand the times in my biographic novel?
The distance is not so far, but so close to the Maybelline face.
As the day passes again.
The night calls my next interview.
The mirror really does ignore my own reflection.
Like a Dracula’s vampire living among those called friendly.
I could grieve only to God’s mercy.
Or the actions that make me.
The actor is not so much a clown.
Or a part of such bias critics, but a true spirit.
Just like you.
I am human.
View & comment on this verse by clicking here
Who I would like to meet © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
Who I would like to meet:
The President;
talk about politics
foreign and domestic
The Pope;
called his eminence
kneel down
and pray for peace
A King
with his Queen;
to know royalty
and claim nobility
Another species
from outer space
unlike a human being
and understand
a piece
of the cosmos
The common man
and woman
with a shake
of hands
Acknowledge history
and learn from reality
Most of all
the creator of mankind
called God;
to the knowledge
of existence
Leave a comment on this verse by clicking here
Glen Yumang Manese’s ~ Miscellaneous Writing
Click bar to the right, and scroll down to readPortals of Envies © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
Prologue.
Passing through the portals of envies.
Looking into the eyes of Medusa, Hydra and Dragons.
Bathing in their knowledge.
Fear not my eyes are my reflections of a mirror.
They cannot dare touch my ability to actions that render their beliefs to be given to the world of never.
Creatures which go down the abyss of nothing.
If not for the will in the human mind to warrant a creature to their rights of the land called Earth.
I come as the plume of a feather adorn in my colors.
The right of passage to pass in murky waters.
Legends I am not, but fears nothing to gain my respect among those in history.
Discovery lies within my heart and dwells in the mind of my comfort.
Only time wishes away the skin’s youth to be with the many of the dead, but living in the written
words of those scribes that wish not their definition perish to the desert of the sands.
No element can take away the capacity to dream.
Not water which abundant to the world, but so small in comparison to empty space.
Secludes only on a claim called a body of an ocean.
Vapors away to the air and whirled by the winds of time.
Fire can only be sustain by the fuels which feed the burn of a desire.
A place were such desire of imagination can live in harmony.
Long after the words of one’s blessings to the libraries which opens their life to be given a life between two worlds.
One among the living and the dead which created the talents to give in respect to those honored in time as a thinker among men.
Gaining wisdom with each action in the strike of the pen.
Killing the very note to out wit one’s own mind of self discovery.
As I leave this place of envies nor do I bow, but say my respects to an honor which will claim my faith in due time.
Legendary kings of triumph seated on thrones.
As a chair awaits me to play with kings.
Part I.
Medusa’s Eyes to my Mirror of Reflections
I bow to one King, marriage to those others claiming glory of such a crown.
Glowing in the hues of gold awaiting the mark of platinum to caress wisdom.
Wizards of the staff in a signature to challenge my sword calling out the pencil.
I shall take such creator to banish the imagination within the confines of a cellar.
Or shall she turn me to stone and cut my eyes of reflection to her chamber of statues.
Stepping into the coliseum of ancient Rome with the likes of common gladiators.
I create within my mind the legendary sword of King Arthur from the stone.
As only kings can use such a gifted weapon of weaponry to defend my actions.
A serpent of hatred among men in her desire to out game my abilities in the mind.
Creating an invisible orb above my head to guide the eyes of my faith in battle.
Advantage is truly in the strength of her burning heart to take me from the world of never.
Taking her time to lean forward in her orchestrated dance of theatrics.
Shall we dance Queen of mischief in the platform of such mimic in your music.
Whipping her skills in tango to fall from my feet to the fertile earth.
Whirling the art of mambo to crash into the walls of disillusion.
Wrapping her tail to twirl my body into fury of unconscious faint.
Wanting the portrayal once given to her as a beauty among woman.
The gracious steps in the waltz of a princess giving her life as a woman of envy.
Laughter in her tones to voice the mane of serpents from her cranium.
Defensive my sword into her breast plate to take advantage of the struggle.
Breaking her movement to miss out of grace in her steps to the path of my destruction.
Such simplicity in your actions to claim fame where men have died for centuries.
Give back the legend for which the sword was meant to be in time.
Releasing the grasp from my hand to throw as a trophy to the audience.
Slapping her brass hand to connect across my epidermis.
Defeat is not far within my distinction of a useless adversary of a scribe.
Shall I give you the kiss of death.
Sending you to the dungeon of my artifacts.
Acceptance of the kiss is granted with amusement of her victory.
Opening Medusa’s eyes to see my mirror of reflections.
Blowing my wind of erosion to wither her image to grains of sand.
Sending her to the abyss of legendary time.
Part II.
Hydra’s eyes to the Truth of Truce
Take me to the winds of legendary time.
Giving the moment of my actions to the goddess of Athena.
Shall I grow wings of an angel and be blessed with the penmanship of my skill.
As such beauty is giving back the rightful place of Queen in the world of never.
Granting the gift of her spoils to achievement.
As she places the mask of air upon my orifice and venture to the lands of Greece.
Another called the Hydra calls a challenge in the cavern of the water by the lake.
A greater noble with the skills to out maneuver my abilities of one.
Awaking the beast to the sea of the Adriatic.
The Olympics to the peers in view of our engagement of conflict.
Legend you wish to be notable scribe of men.
I shall clip the wings of your flight to be grounded on your knees.
Swallow the mask of your protection to feed in my poison breath.
Feed my belly within the desire of your words to the mass of kings.
A battle not so easily won by your eyes of trickery.
Bravery stands before you not the romance of a lady to men.
Let me be the judgement of your performance to my martial arts.
Choose your imagination wisely to empower my defeat of nobility.
As my mind knows better to cut into the flesh of such beast.
Conjuring a whip of molten embers declares my faith to subdue my adversary.
A rhythmic illustration conveys the aquatics of his invincibility.
Hovering to gain an advantage of his reign on the body of ocean.
Striking with his center to envelop from right to left of precision.
Clipping my mid section to bleed my life’s venom.
Biting deep into the thigh to the bone marrow.
Flinging my helplessness to the heavens above the clouds.
Injury is not pain to affections of the heart’s immunity.
Recovery dies fast to the passion of resentment.
Fire and ice filter the crisp air in defiance to encounter the next wave of his anger.
Defense is my best ally to be patient for the task at hand.
Attacks to the left, center and right to dodge the creature to swivel beneath his cover.
A vantage point of his weakness to acquire my tactical movement of the whip.
Catching lasso to wrap around the three headed beast of mythology.
Like a guillotine to the guilty verdict of death.
Looking into Hydra’s eyes to behold the truth of truce.
Spinning his body above my view into a gravity of a black hole.
Releasing death’s grip of the whip.
Banishing to the gates of hell to protect once more.
Granting the wisdom to send back his presence to the brothers of his realm.
Part III.
Dragons of All Colors Eyes
Realms which speak to challenge my mind of wisdom.
Turning my body to the color of transparent skin of their kind.
What compels me to fly with dragons?
I do not know the beast, the beast knows me.
I am in their mind what creates or makes dragons.
From the beginning, until the end.
The end to their wisdom, wisdom to a higher monarchy.
Monarchy to kings, kings responsibility to nobles.
Nobles to men, men will judge every aspect.
Aspects with disregard, disregarding the very meaning.
Meaning to your words, words too bleed.
Bleeding without notice, noticing nothing, nothing.
Nothing of talent, talents of the talons.
Talons to grip your existence, extinction to the transparent, transparent dragon.
Dragons of all colors, colors of the beast.
Beasts which call, calling themselves dragons.
Dragons to fall, falling to their misery.
Misery to a jester, jesters enchant.
Enchanting jokers, jokers in a wisdom game.
Gaming in liar’s poker, poking face.
Facing the dungeon, dungeon of one’s wisdom.
Wisdom to know, knowing no extinction.
Extinction to the transparent, transparent dragon.
Piercing the dragons of all colors eyes to the mirror of reflections in wisdom.
Postponement in respect of their like kind as a beast among such clans.
There is only the battle of the world among men to end this passage to the world of never.
Where like worlds of imagination and intrigue join to face their true meaning to the books of
libraries.
Part IV.
The Being of Genghis Khan
Transforming my mind to the days of Kings, but reliving the battles from the scribe’s own thoughts to give such honor in kinship.
Echoes the words to paper once more to the times of the being of Genghis Khan.
Today we make our history.
Each one becomes family, each and everyone to divide and conquer, so the many stand in uniform armor.
Awaiting the feeble warrior to approach their mighty garrisons.
Out numbered ten to one.
So, begins the war of brave men.
Chivalry to our foot soldiers knowing their life will soon pass in the end.
As the fixated grasp in defiant glory.
The weaken becomes the gutting story.
Sacrifice we will take in the start.
They will soon fall to doom and be completely apart.
Circling around the gathered assembly.
Carousel horses spinning round and round.
Aerial arrows causing conflicting damage.
Tightening the noose of their geese.
There is no retreat, or accenting peace.
Time has come to those bleeding, weaning and screaming.
Death does not laugh my fellow brothers.
The actions of battle remains only to one or the other.
Hostility becomes with your every being.
Cry out to your enemy and realize his intent from the beginning.
His purpose is your final and may your eyes carry the demise of all, which wear their color dressing.
Fight fierce, fight without the worry of tomorrow.
For when you wake again that will be your new tomorrow.
Sorrows are for the meek.
I hold within you the reserve heart of those, which come to invade your very definition.
They come not to ask you of your questions, that will degrade and make your existence weak.
There comes a time when the actions of the political mind of the pen, does not warrant your skill labors of freedom.
The actions of the blade and means of assault, take the balance of your values.
Let out the emissions in the words of all your minds.
If truly the pen is mightier than the sword.
Combine within you, the blending of both.
Today, I lead and so shall you follow with your horses.
The king is at his center, as he pleads for the last of his Queen.
The walls of safe haven are far in the distance.
Commanders and soldiers become alike pieces.
Confusion has become their balance.
Victory becomes the fight.
The cry and fall in their quest, before you, which calls himself, the knight.
Part V.
Knights of Kings to Generals
Combining of great leaders in men.
The final battle of warriors to the world of never.
Questioning in doubtful minds of the transparent dragon.
Dragons of all colors stand to face scribe’s wisdom of assemblies in garrisons.
A fleet of destruction in aerial assault of humanities perils to imagination.
Creatures of wisdom and power to give their mastery in winged flight.
Where all the elements join in the final wave of measures.
Dares my creative thinking of a marriage in words to the conflicts of an epic.
Raise my knights of kings to generals.
Ships to the armada in my admirals.
Sound the canons to majesty declares their offensive.
Darkness does not fall to the wasteland of such engagement.
Our souls are ghost of their disbelief in courage.
I shall give balance of the unicorn with my knights.
Kings their status to command their generals.
The armies of foot soldiers to calvaries and archers.
Dwell in the distance of their orders of generals.
Their breath of poison, fire and ice carries death.
Their talons grasps the flesh of mankind.
Let us see the light of the sun once more.
Standing as the maestro to the orchestra of operation.
Defensive calls for acts of aggression.
Fills the air with canon balls of shrapnel.
Fields of razor arrows whistle like meteor showers.
Fires the sky with unison of poetic justice.
Falls the first wave to the sound of thunder to the earth.
Lightening flashes in the distant night sky.
Swords to shields march forward the foot soldiers.
Slashing the remaining life force of envies.
Glides the knights with unicorns to the secondary assault.
Lances to the bellies of the beasts.
Crashing down to the awaiting soil of dirt.
Giving their last struggle of whipping maneuver in pride.
Gallops the calvaries to claim the faith of victory.
Claiming the land of men.
Pleads mercy the last dragon called their Queen.
Only then does mankind know no defeat.
Legends will live and be remembered.
Taking my throne as a scribe of the written word.
Resting my crown among kings.
Click bar to the right, and scroll down to read
Before & After the Storm © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
I.
By the way.
This rewinds me.
I feel the echoes in the distance.
Recalling the times which forever haunt the yelling in my thoughts.
Stop think for a moment.
They hear your cries.
Though your feelings carry too much in your work.
Don’t move so fast forward.
Reclaim the idea which makes you be the writer.
Not the constant admirer.
Forever is not the enemy.
Shall this verse touch the reader.
Even those called the pencil as their own.
Believe the might for the strong continues a path of nothing.
Rise before the storm hits the land.
Your poise is not the want, but a wanting to know the words to reflect your person.
Continue the likes of your precursor.
Admit the lines to focus within the amplitude too convincing a conversation.
Holding the map is not a North or South of a compass.
A magnitude of the author too feed back on those which honor your liking.
Relax in the fellowship to understand the meanings of your kind.
They will in return be the subject which claims a faith.
On your own level to understand the music which plays a Mozart note in the mind.
The page shall always be complete.
The color is not blind, but a infinity in the brain.
Those cannot be your likeness.
A value of your talent to the world.
I give to you to make the treble clef a binding to the others.
Let the mothers of your equality speak, but so a day pass.
So does the night.
Your bound by the words which keep to be a part in a destination.
Do not fail in the truth.
As the truth will set you free.
Even in the eyes of the so privilege minds.
Calling the very curse to out wit your darkness into light.
II.
Knowing my thoughts touch and burn with hostile fire.
Collectively, I answer to the mind’s constant fast forward.
Could just the blazing wind of the seas ever wrap joy in my tranquility to fight off the wolves?
So be the gathered hunting my words to paper.
Truly, I march the gallows to hear their voices.
The silence is overbearing to say the least.
I stand as the Shepard without the constitutes of his sheep.
Though the humble and grand see my works.
I rise not to avenge the others, but merge quietly into the night.
The days just pass and go, blowing away.
Awaiting out of the environment.
The clouds melting down my snow cap mountain of pain.
I will write the pure to the waters which run down to the valleys.
I cry the words of my release.
Pouring down the innocent blood of my flock.
I render the sacrifice to know my nothingness is a self value.
Becoming the words of my heart to love the ruins after the storm.
Raising my seeds to gather a rebirth of the vanishing sheep.
They die not in vain, but live in my thoughts to reclaim the lands.
The pasture of fields.
Once more will live to graze on the grass of green.
As I continue to master my knowledge of the earth.
Too grow once again in the plump reasoning of their life.
I lead and so do they follow the words from my constant thinking.
In the idea behind the relationship of the Shepard to his sheep.
Extinction does not exist in the creative mind to recreate the birth.
The light will show me survival has a meaning to give back my work.
As I go into the day with a new set of followers.
Abundance is closer to the horizon.
Forward in life’s enduring circle.
Ever learning the process of my ability to understand the controversial course of the world.
Out of Ink © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
Why do I pluck feathers to dip into ink?
Write fables that do not want to sink.
Callused hands too bleed my finger tips.
All the time wanting to resolve the words that I worship.
Tell me once, my heart to the mind.
Tell me twice, my senses to the restless mind.
Tell me three times, my comforts to the said mind.
Releasing my actions from the mind.
As I run out of ink.
Throwing away the feather which can no longer print.
I will use the very redness pouring from my skin.
I relinquish command of my instrument.
I will finish the lines with drips of another agreement.
To explain the edgy mood of my Cancer’s character.
Even without my true master.
I will voice the words from my own lips.
Like a snap of my whip.
I leap from the written page.
Becoming the actor to the Broadway stage.
I need no lines to calculated memory.
I will flow with words of my true imaginary.
Putting on my armor to battle my demons.
Still my hands bleed upon my shield in this translation.
The monsters which claim my authority.
Calling me their inferiority.
Shall I create the mystical.
Challenge those so called elliptical.
Fearing nothing of their lion’s prowess.
Rendering them absolutely useless.
I gain knowledge with earthly time.
Paid in blood for my strength to Jailer’s crimes.
As I’m pierced from limb to limb.
I will not fall for the sake of their sins.
Defeat is not my destroyer.
As they believe I do not have a lonely prayer.
Ever changing faces of Hydra.
Slashing my adversaries will only create consistent drama.
I give my last drop of blood to hold my ground.
In this coliseum of my audience so profound.
Or the likes of the other connected at their center.
I chose to be my own mentor.
I will take the very breath of such enemy.
Choke the tyrants of legendary stories.
Let them feast of my bloods venom.
I leave this stage to claim my kingdom.
Becoming my words of the written verse.
As they feed to bite in ritual curse.
My whip stained with every cell of my drained life.
Even the oppressor feels content with strife.
As I laugh my relief.
In the optimistic of their belief.
No longer the fear to question my mind.
As the pints spill red to make my battle cry sign.
I shall lasso the neck of the goose.
Ride the back of the serpent’s noose.
As I look at the eyes of such creature.
Another like myself will awaken the adventure.
I reclaim my worth of said words.
Becoming among scribes of noted lords.
Note in your ability to never compromise.
Others of your religion will wear a disguise.
They praise and raise your pedestal.
Cause the pains too turn you into crystal.
Become one with your pen.
They will never know your true end.
I take my writer’s grave.
As my words bid farewell with a tsunami wave.
Click bar to the right, and scroll down to read
Phial © 2008
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
You seek, but does your eyes really blind you?
The superficial tendencies flaw your judgement.
Like the blue skies of tomorrow end here with your character.
The haunting is over, but well rewarded in waiting pass the misery.
The darkened clouds have come and gone to stormy weather.
Patterns change so abruptly in such vial conditions.
The reflective image use to be so spiritually open.
Solitary was a close door without a key to unlock.
A union comes like a brief breeze sent from the heavens.
Stops you, against the opposing currents upon you.
Calculated by a emitting force your shield is let go to wander.
Moving forward means, but a new journey with you.
Looking back is milestones away in reaching a plateau.
In taking your hand to walk across the level fields of sand.
Footprints can only be washed away by the crash of rippling waves.
Continuing the trail that relationships are no fairy tales.
The path is one with endless curves to follow through.
Grounded to the values of truth without separation.
Governed by rules to ignite the flame of eternal light.
Burning within an ember coal the warmth of hearth with you.
Unmanned tides will sink many a shipwrecked.
A vessel fueled by the labor of profound understanding.
A devotion to devotee in being solely attached with you.
Collectively, the bow will not break to disagreement.
Only to grow stronger, skin-deep to the bone marrow.
The very portals of eyes hide, but illusive nothing.
Existence carries on an uninterrupted gales of wind.
Elemental in casting the feelings embodied to be freed.
The vastness compels the moment in tranquility.
In sharing a life long chapter of viable love with you.
Oceans drift to circumnavigate an unknown course.
In planning the ritual fails not to undermine such medicine.
Cures all diseases to the serum of companionship.
Dies only in a lost time lapse, but lives in finding you.
Filling the phial no more with resentment of poison.
Polluting the soul to nightmares in the still darkness.
Nights of unwanted rejection to an infection.
Bargaining to a trade in illusions of mirages.
Strikes the beat of the heart to eradicate unconditionally.
Seasickness no longer conquers a delusion of you.
Days in searching blend to a sea of meridian.
Destination takes all action to no avail.
Crossing canals to short live unduly patience.
Guided to misdirection of lengthy river’s edge.
Just to look at the sky’s constellation above for you.
A star to sparkle relentlessly in the global sphere.
A Venus sends an answer to move forward.
Into the distant nautical of anticipation.
The beam of light bringing comfort in relief.
Counting the days over the moon in meeting you.
Does the new day carry your image in a mirror’s reflection?
The clear water of the purest sea show an image in a visage.
Disappearing once more to aquamarine of nature.
A glimpse to impossibility has no righteous claim.
Only an answer to a definition in the odds wishing warrant.
Daydreaming the hours away to reaching you.
Pleasant offerings ease the mind, temporarily.
Spoils of a gracious balance in plane and sky.
Perfection has no way to make such a moment.
In discoveries never content to the asking of you.
Many a nights changes the mood of solitary confinement.
Dares to defy reason to the logic of irrational thinking.
Closes all doors to the entrance that mischief has won.
A battle rages on only in the cellar of a taunted mind.
Shadows play trickery to the fear in collapse burden.
Constant retelling and foretelling the event is out of bounds.
Is there a key to a shelter of homage in being with you.
Shutters the eyes to a final sleep of unconsciousness.
Quiet as a thief in the night beckons to take all memory.
Locking the only treasure left in a mental picture of you.
A calm silence fills the air of morning’s early dawn.
Feeling faint, but the dizziness doe not last long enough.
In passing out to the residue sending mix signals.
Sleeping is a sloth to bear such pain in the cortex.
Giving in to the sorrow of defeat against all cost.
Submissive to the expectations have no answers.
Questions the possibility to drastic measures.
Raising a white flag of surrender in crying out to you.
Only to hear a distinct echo bellow far into the horizon.
Calling your image in bitter chords to hear you.
Unlikely, a dark gloomy sky takes hold the moment.
Clashes of lightening and thunder control the scene.
No longer does the treachery give any options.
Thrown about port and starboard to witness such faith.
Heavy the wheel between the hands to grasp what’s left to hold.
An empty shell of a being diluted to the cumulus tears.
In this sickness to go full circle and hope for greener pastures.
The bottle quenches just one last time to temptation.
Salvation is meek to the wick burning for you.
Though the candle light did not die in reason to be with you.
On the shores of an island laid tattered and torn.
The melody of birds, open weighted eyelids to focus.
Capsized ship buried in the wayside of the shoal.
Reaching towards the light of an image called the sun.
Does wrath give mercy in opportunity to living?
In touching the foundation of ground to recovery.
Lifting the spirit to stand upright in appreciation.
Running in the distance, again just an imagination.
Or reality stricken to the one-dimensional mind.
In joining the exuberant quest of longing called you.
Letters to Avelaem © 2008
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
Letters:
This is a plot to unravel
an envious scheme.
On the dawn of early
light breaks this reprisaille
to write these words...
Argumentative at this moment
like the unpredictable weather
the barometer has fallen once
again to the nature of our
conflictive disagreement
to hell with fair skies
that the sun does not wish
to shed the sunshine
that this storm bring the
clouds of gloom upon us
flashes of lightening
sounds of thunder
rattle the very
foundation of relationship.
Venomous in casting stones
ensuing this rain turn to
hail towards such vengeance
that actions favor not the
speeches of the tongue
cries out the length
to the heavens
this matter has just begun
to brew an insult on the kettle
in waiting for the blow
of the whistle
before the boiling
point rises steam
on fertile earth.
Ending just four seasons
of Spring’s birth to affinity
that failure knows not
the fulfillment to litigate
tensions on such behaves
to keep discussion
in the dwellings of abode
to abrogate the situation
that love controls
this pain gives fever
the temperature to escalate
an infectious virus
between like partners
given penetrating chance.
Leaves of Autumn wither
to the chlorophyll
lacking such color
turning a breech
of contract that
photosynthesis governs
a need to continue
so a parting of ways
calls the tears to turn
into crystal that feelings
are felt to retreat in
flakes of white
kills the illness
questions the mind.
Abound by frigid
glaciers to the beat
of hearts that flow
the vessels to release
this anger to one
another that a purgatory
sets a cleansing that
nature is ongoing
so tells the balance
of human intervention
that mistakes are
a curable remedy
overly glorified acts
of lessons learned.
Erecting the seeds
of passion that
destruction has set
to poison such
ground to plant
the crop which feeds
from the beginning
that influences take
their rightful place
to the vapors of air
knowing this will
happen once again
for future reference
our lips silenced.
Marks an affidavit
controls a necessity
to act on far fetch
drama in accepting
this as a formal
truth to forgiveness
that the bark of our
tree is callused
to undermine outside
interests lurking for
an advantage in
finding less rooted
roots of loop
holes to ruins.
Tower of Pisa © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
I’m like a book, to you.
Only opening me, to you.
When all else fails.
Leaning to the Pisa.
Carrying the burden.
Wanting to be the pages.
Until all is yours again.
I’m not a wishing well.
So here’s a kiss, goodbye.
Next time the book, closes.
Turning won’t be so easy.
I’m locking the doors, to you.
There will be no key, to you.
Join your entourage.
Enjoy in their pollution.
All the world, to you.
Not a turn in sight, to you.
No looking back.
Emotions running wild.
Passing the times.
Nothing is skipping.
Not a beat of a dime.
A day doesn’t feel much.
When you’re high as a kite.
Every minute counts, to you.
Every hour commands, to you.
Washing away all worry.
Hiding nothing.
Indulging is something.
Time just keeps ticking.
Engulfed in the trance, to you.
Claiming all is well, to you.
Allowing the moments.
Pursuing the disappointments.
Months just keep dragging.
Waiting for the next idol.
The one called prince charming.
Here goes one, to you.
There goes another, to you.
Water cleanses everything.
Doing exactly the same.
Talking the blaming game.
Never learning the mistake.
Just so someone is listening.
Another will come.
Definitely younger, to you.
Older doesn’t count, to you.
Like you’re getting much younger.
By now, you’d think much older.
Knowledge just laughs back.
Pawns just keep coming, to you.
Like bees to a queen, to you.
As they make use of you.
Laying out the nest.
They just keep flying in.
Swarming for a taste.
Getting in.
Getting out.
Just as fast as a fly.
Dotting all their I’s.
Waving high five, to you.
Smiling, to you.
Quickly, turning their back.
A hornet, to you.
A wasp, to you.
Nothing seems right.
Wrong has no meaning.
A value.
Or a definition.
Where is the book?
The one, called my friend.
My leaning Tower of Pisa.
My foundation is crumbling.
My ground is too soft.
I’m locking the door, to you.
There will be no key, to you.
I’m also falling, to you.
One day, you will too.
Emotions © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
Prelude.
Part I.
I wrote her a letter.
Even put two stamps
for extra measure.
Sending her the words.
My feelings
to the edge
of the world
that she truly deserves.
Touched by the heart.
Gave way to my depart.
Loving out of actions,
too young to know reason.
Many years to pass
realizing the truth in my questions.
As I nurtured the affections of others.
Finding none to be worthy lovers.
No possibilities, offers:
Rejections.
Now, kneeling to call out:
Emotions.
Sealing the envelope.
Faith is a tight rope.
A sheet of paper
making way across continents.
Away in a courier’s bag
written once in lover’s lament.
Actions now speak in my words.
A blessing from above
I pray to the Lord.
In the heavens
high above the hemisphere.
Taking out
all my fears.
To answers
crossing the oceans.
My hand to Bible’s truth
no magic potion.
Birds do migrate and fly.
Soon dropping
what cannot be denied.
Coming down like parachutes.
Pouring my rain
but will all go mute?
Hearing my past
of lonesome voice.
Could she really ponder a choice?
As she opens my words.
With each line
slices a slash of a sword.
To read these letters:
No more, my days of never.
My times as a noble
thought I was clever.
Childish tones spoken
with your kind.
Relishes the thoughts
in past events to the mind.
Older has taught me.
Maturity governs me.
Plays a song of righteous senses.
Notes are no longer apart
focus is clear to the lenses.
Forgiveness
is all I ask
in my final days
on this Earth.
Purging the sins
the memories from my history’s birth.
Decades have decayed in dormant.
Decision calls my last enchantment.
Laughter sighs deep in my chest.
Sorrows heal to times of distress.
Closes my eyes for a second.
Open my eyes for tears beckon.
The touch of your skin
warmed by your embrace.
Hearing the classical melodies
slowly cutting to the chase.
Sweet smell of sunflowers in the distance.
Awaiting opportunity to kiss:
Persistence.
Recalling the reversal of returns.
How the record table turns?
I use to look as bright as the Moon.
With each beauty cratered at my center
a welcoming back saloon.
Migration was a feeble attempt
in Sun’s degrees of my true angle.
The winds taken my wings
in Bermuda’s triangle.
Feathers have become white
to the knowledge.
Bold goes no longer
to the root’s edge.
As I lie here
resting on guilt.
What temples
bridges could have been built?
Love had gone far.
All the time flying
never looking up to your Northern star.
Emotions © 2007
written by Catherine
Part II.
I sit by the window awaiting your letter.
Morning after morning through the weak, hazy sunshine.
Imagining the letter had come,
Haunting the space where the letters are left,
Dreaming I could hold it,
Could open it with my trembling fingers.
Yet almost afraid of what it might say.
How much time had passed with the waiting?
Then one morning the letter arrived.
I picked it up and put it aside,
Not really wanting to know the contents within,
At the same time caressing the envelope with my beating heart.
Does the letter speak of regret at leaving me behind?
Am I just searching for those words to find?
The song of migration to a distant land,
The song the bird would sing,
Soaring above me.
The exploration and the quest for the new.
The alienation and the heart that beats alone.
The pain of departure where I had become nothing
but a memory to you.
Stranded, unable to fly like the bird,
I see the same sun and moon as you see,
But from a lifetime away.
My heart reaches out to all your despair.
And my tears are like a droplet of a whisper,
On the ocean of time.
I am stranded on the shore,
Waving to you for ever more.
I see a plane above and wonder where it's going,
Why am I left behind?
Your brave new world is now your home,
But where am I?
Emotions © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
Closure.
Part III.
You’ve always been my center.
Knowing my heart is divided into quarters.
Going the distance
you’ve made a whole heart.
The last beat controls no error
my last stand is no longer apart.
As a circle is infinite.
Knowing my life is a will
of the meaning of definite.
Berlin’s walls are borders
to my affection.
Not even China’s greater walls
can challenge eviction.
Though clips my wings
to fly in flight.
Abilities the mind to conquer
the commissions of each night.
Destiny has not failed
to exercise truth’s serum.
Equals are we
in the equation of a sum.
No longer to stare
with each sky’s departure.
No more to torment
in our terms to the adventure.
Grounded too long
so I may walk the line of a distance.
Sailing the ship
to meet your unanswered acquaintance.
Tell me the commands of your voice.
Give to me
again the living pages of our choice.
Conflicts not the wars of tragedy.
Engaging to know love’s peace treaty.
In holding
the ticking hours of forgotten.
Freedom cries the harden space
in the between to be soften.
Letting go
would be feudal.
I go to the winds of the ocean
no longer in idle.
Barcelona’s Columbus
points to longitude.
Magellan’s journey
does not stray latitude.
I can now look above
to the constellation.
You’ve given me
your life’s compass to know:
Destination.
Emotions © 2007
written by Catherine
Part IV.
I stood on the shore so solitary.
With only the music of the waves to comfort me.
The relentless ebb and flow,
As each time the waves crashed in more thunderously.
Making me see that I am just a tiny particle under the heavens,
With no claim on happiness or certainty.
No belief that the sea could ever capture me
And take me to my love.
I look into the mirror,
Am I the same?
Has anything changed?
I'm still the passive one
Who waited on the shore,
Unable to show my tears,
Unwilling to express my fear that I was to be abandoned.
Was I to be left to wither like the sun ripened fruit
That has been neglected to be plucked?
Just tasting salty tears.
The sun ever taunting me,
The beauty that surrounded, just a mockery,
The night that brought no sanctuary.
In the morning, children running to the sea,
Yet I, forsaken in my loneliness,
Did shun their smiles and uninhibited ways.
Both China and Berlin's walls had surrounded my heart,
For there could be no other.
Yet today something different.
The second missive has arrived,
And all is changed,
The miracle of his words explained.
I put on the musk scented oils
And bracelets of gold,
The long beautiful dress I had been saving.
And a flower adorns my hair.
Like a young unfettered colt I run to the shore,
Solitary as ever above the hub,
But with the secret knowledge burning inside of me,
It's true . . . . . .
That I am loved.
Click bar to the right, and scroll down to readAwakening © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
At times the world seems so dismal
Then again life is not far behind
Though I see the light for my first time
In opening of my eyes to birth
I wonder why crying is not far away
Darkness calls my progression to life
Death perceives a notion
Ascends the artifact to warrant justice
I tell the story which lives forever
Claims me on the merit of living words
Dies not the soul of my abilities to contour
Even in the events sending my time line
Declines only through the age of absentmindedness
The womb is a safe haven for a while
Such dangers still prevail through a cord
Reasons which keep me in silence
Defiance calls not my burial to the hours
Weeks await the life which beckons awakening
Accepts the compounds to becoming human
Disasters becoming my reprieve
At point of view is a reel of film
Unfolding to picture a new discovery
Could the rising sun set on grace
In the relapse of many awakenings
Only emptiness is fulfilled by self will
Capturing destiny in the struggles of living
Fulfillment lacks luster without determination
Childhood bears distant memories in time
Making for histories in a numerical line
Revealing the stories to unfold my release
A definition in the passages of my worth
A gift to the answers which have questions
Breathing in the air to the taste of life
Though my eyes can see the light
Blinks for a second to occupy the night
Bearing forth the hand to touch
Hearing the sounds of the echoes
Speaks not the language of understanding
Repetition conquers all senses
Transforming my soul to the awakening
At distance pace calls my interview
Revolves the axis in a systematic evolution
Days turn months into form able years
Absorbing within the mind to grasp reason
In my birth to becoming undeniable
Words speak different attributes of acceptance
Writing becomes a numb sensation of indifference
Capability is a spectrum of light
Deems nothing as a definition in a dictionary
A welcoming chatter to the real meaning of scholars
A goodbye to the idea that speaks the truth
Ruthless as the circle of oddities in eye’s view
Living life as a borrower’s senseless notion of time
Wasting value in becoming more aristocratic
Caressing wealth to the comforts of condition
Translation tells grief is just a breath of stale air
No matter the statement bearing the gifts
Another will come to be again in time
Though few and between exist as precious
None will claim awakening until death
Predecessors’ © 2008
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
Awakening on the footsteps of knowledge
Not knowing I slept in the kingdom of heaven
Greeted by angles, seraphim and cherubim
Although, one stood out among the rest as my guardian angel
Giving me, wine to drink and bread to eat
Telling me the many times I’ve fallen, but today was different
A place where time has no existence in hours, minutes or seconds
Given a moment to inscribe my thoughts
The words of my faith as a scribe among men
Acknowledged by predecessors of my worth
Shaking the hands of gesture in twelve disciples
Though Judas never looked at me straight in the eyes
Given the holy book called the bible
In the written language long forgotten
Deciphering the decoded words in my mind
From the beginning to the end
This was not a test of my predecessors
Only a meeting in knowing the words are clear and present
In my ability to understand the meaning of the letters
Although, free will exist to be my own
Keeping my one eye focus and the other wondering at heaven’s gate
In dreaming that one is surely awake to witness, but the sleeping eye is dormant
Only to be found on the first step of the eternal entrance
Below in the Garden of Eden
Change is the fear of man
If penetrating evil is left to wander the land
Is good the ultimate at fault to letting go the compassion
From the beginning that makes for a better understanding
Human creation is flawed from the very making of existence
Knowing this would be a tragic event to look with both eyes
Turning anger only to see the view with one eye
The making of seven days to creation
A true love and hate are just a thin line between the eyes of comparison
Causing a cancer to escalate the seven deadly sins
The archangel is below in number with six to a lesser seven
Although, the contrary virtues exist
The value to a destination either calls way or is the judgement declared in circumstances
Neither is justified by condemnation
Only an undetermined sentencing to isolation
That men are mortally bound by sacrifice
Expires only when the ultimate test is met with death
Believing of greater truth in a creator
Humankind is temporal to Earth and Universe
When exchange of immortal soul has no boundaries
Dying is left with no exits in the inner sanctum of the heart
Feeding life to expand eternally in this place called Heaven
Forever has no meaning
Time is not even a definition
Click bar to the right, and scroll down to read
A.K.A. FILIPINO AMERICAN DREAM SERIES
Drivin © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
(warning: subjective language)
You don’t have a chance not a prayer in the world.
A prayer is all you got.
No ones going to hear you out.
You think you’re an artist or something?
Well, think again, Loser.
That’s right think again, Loser.
I know what drivin is, Loser.
That’s right think what you, write.
Catch that phrase on the 8th line, Loser?
Yah, I’m talkin to you.
The one writing this whole mess of things.
Yah, think you’re a poet?
Yah, think you’re a writer?
Yah, don’t know a dam thing about poetry!
Yah, you can write alright maybe your 1st letter in your name and shit!
Do you know any famous writers?
Like Picasso?
No, he’s an artist?
I think he’s a painter?
All that abstract, and shit!
Well, what about Shakespeare?
I know he’s a writer.
To be or not to be.
That is the question.
Whether tis nobler in the mind
to suffer the slings of outrageous fortune.
Maybe the slings in your case?
Definitely not the fortune.
Or to take arms against a sea of trouble.
You don’t have any arms.
Just a pen.
You’re definitely in trouble.
You come here on myspace.
You for real a .com and shit!
To get notice.
You’re a loser.
Pick another writer, Loser.
How about the crazy one?
Who drank himself to death?
I think his name was Leonardo or Van Gogh?
No, he was the guy who made a portrait of himself and called the dam thing, a Mona Lisa!
Matter of a fact he cut his ear.
Give the dam thing to his girlfriend or something!
Yes, can you hear me now, Loser.
Think of the guy who drank himself to death?
No, how would a loser know that?
I’ll give you the answer.
His name was Poe.
Yah, Edgar Allen Poe.
To you, Loser.
He wrote that Raven, thing.
With the birds, and shit!
You know why, Loser?
I think he was drunk.
Oh, well, you’re quiet n shit!
I don’t know why?
Maybe because you’re a loser?
I’ll give you one more chance to get notice n shit!
Who wrote the Declaration of Independence?
Well, I’ll make this easy for you.
Who wrote their name so big on the Declaration of Independence?
What was his name?
I know that one, Drivin.
His name was John Hancock.
He got notice, Drivin.
You’re the loser, Drivin.
You’re the one writing this dam thing, Loser!
I guessed all along you were drivin.
Remember to write you’re name really big.
Like John Hancock, and shit!
Like John Hancock, and shit!
Click bar to the right, and scroll down to read
(Dedicated to my mother - Eusebia Yumang Manese - I will truly miss your essence to life and the values which you've given me - forever - I love you in ways - I will never be able to reflect - but a mirror will always tell me that your existence carries me through the great divine.)
Rest In Peace
May 27, 2007
Resembles My Negative © 2007
written by Glen Yumang Manese
a.k.a. Filipino American Dream
These words strike me with remorse.
My mind is a blank thought to memory at this moment.
I could not walk the valleys of death.
The path which lies in all of us.
In the feelings which challenge this reality.
I know the time that begins and ends.
In these words calling beyond such nature.
I live through her image.
In the picture which resembles my negative.
I believe in the divine three.
So I write this effigy.
On the tombstone of life.
I imagine the memories of my youth.
In the many years of despair.
Bringing forth the life that once touched so many in my view.
In the name of the father and the virgin mother.
To witness my mother.
In the sorrows which become me.
As you have witness a death in your life or will in sometime on this desolate planet.
I write these endless words to vindicate my thoughts.
My meaning to life.
My blood to go the distance.
My words too bleed in this moment.
Precious are the times of torment.
In the meaning which send us to be on Earth.
I give this time to reflect the good.
Not the bad which consumes the everyday.
But the good in which we live at the times that I will always remember.
Love does not show and weep, until the bitter end.
I know a better place.
In which time or age matters not your every worth.
But even in the presence of God.
I endure the sacrificial times with you.
I am the lamb that justifies the means.
Even though myself was not with you at the day of your
death.
Punishment lingers in this place.
A place of grief.
A place of sorrow.
A place of divine will.
At a time I will put to rest your righteous body.
I speak in a tone which causes conflict.
I choose this against me.
To write my passage of goodwill.
To make my last words sound the echoes of my voice.
To this I put all effort.
Effortless as a day with you.
Effortless as the time continues upon the dials.
Time continues without your notoriety, but speaks through me.
I love you.
I truly do.
I love you in the hearts of those present.
In the hearts not present.
And I send the love from my mother which speaks in the presence of all.
In the company of family and friends.
I speak to know in time.
I will meet the maker myself.
And so I leave this place with the cries between the life
and the death.
But I shall realize the life you’ve given to look forward
and embrace my times to be on this Earth.
As we bury your body and release your soul to the heavens
above.
Into the eternal sleep.
I must weep once more.
In the cries of the mourners.
Rest in the peace to know the joy of your new.
In the peace, I will be in moments.
In time remembered...