The ice tinkled against the glass as I raised it to my lips, enjoying the warmth of the late evening sun on my face. The view from the hotel veranda was sublime, out across the Pacific vastness to meet the vivid blue sky at the horizon. It was plain to se...
Worn down,Worn out,Day after day,Until unspilled tearsBurnWith the doubt. “Respect” is just a word,Not understoodNor valued.The more given,The more painWhen not received. Quit!Then what?Places, faces change;Poison lingers.FailureIs just as painful. Dig de...
Not a head does not turn towards the destruction, drawn by the brutal symphony of sound, held rapt by the morbid visual. Everyone sees some part of the meticulously planned yet seemingly barbaric disassembly, almost walking into one another as they crane...
I'm sure you don't remember the first time we met. I say "met"; it was but a brief moment in which two strangers passed each other by, one barely noticing the other, if at all, but leaving an unmistakably profound impression on him—on me. No, I am certain...
Coach B is the Quiet Coach. It is a good place to think, to reflect and from which to draw inspiration. It is a silent movie and my mind writes the title cards. I always travel in Coach B, though it is always at the far end of the platform. For four and a...
I stand at the end of the path for a moment, staring at the modest home before me. This is the place; this is the address I was given. I am not really sure what waits for me inside but I have a feeling that I was right to come here, that my friend was rig...
There are worse things I could do than write a bad poem or two. I could write of love that I have known, love that I have lost. I could compare her (whoever she is) to some flower, some painting, or (heaven forbid) some summer’s day. I could tell of heart...