Peace Rain

Clouds trickle their water droplets,
Tapping the corners of my cheekbones
As I stare up into the gray morning.
The cold air cools down
My fiery lungs, putting my
Mind to rest, putting my
Angst to rest.

Peace rains down upon me,
As memories beckon me
With every rain drop.
Childhood friends,
Family smiling,
Sweet gray memories.

Moments and Memories

Moments past and moments renewed, 

Have only brought hopes of anew, 

Memories that chill and times of glum, 

Are only times past and forever forgot. 

True memories and unforgettable times, 

Are made with love and fortune, 

With cheerful hopes and smiling hearts, 

Do we cherish in an endless chain of memories. 

Do not regret, do not fret, for we are learning, 

The mistakes we cause, the misfortunes alot, 

Are merely preparations for a time unforgot, 

Wait for those moments, wait for those times, 

For it is those memories that define our lives, 

It is those moments that we remember and cherish forever.

Reverberations

An echo resonates within me,

Beginning from the core of my mind,

Sinking down to core of my heart.

I listen within me to search what

Disturbs my inner most cavities.

The reverberations drown out the

Tones of this mysterious voice,

These vibrations prevent me from 

Simply ignoring its call.

A subtle irritation.

A peaceful disturbance.

These echos find refuge in 

The voids of my soul,

And unintentionally lingers.

When Hopes Arise

When times near end and hopes arise,
A chime is heard beyond the tides,
The sun awakes to begin its day,
To warm the skys and rid its grey.

Signs of hope found in dawning sun,
Renewing the souls of the shunned
When life moves to its eager call,
As the sun removes the earth's shawl.

The day is fresh and past regressed
From the glory and the angst mess,
Created by father of time,
And perserved by an abstract shrine.

Yet fear and hope is in the mind,
And yet found in the rising sun.

Pursuit of Happiness - Free Write

I cannot help but remind myself of the pangs of my past.  When the odds are against us, when the darkness settles around us, we begin to gasp for air as we lay there waiting for someone to drag us out of the abyss.  A swell of memories slideshow as we remind ourselves of our regrets, our mistakes, and old dreams.  The pain lingers and the pain propagates.  These gray memories are mere imaginations of our past, mere snippets out of our lives, but strong enough to translate them into a reality.  

And so we must trudge on numbing, suppressing these painful memories in search for the beautiful moments in life.  This is why it is human-nature to be optimistic, to search for that fountain of youth which rejuvenates our soul and invigorate our passions.  We learn, we share, and grow old with memories which last for more than a lifetime.  We are always in the pursuit of happiness and always will look on to the next day to explore and discover the joys humanity can produce; the smirks, the laughter, the heart-warming moments.  I've experienced misfortunes, but I've also experienced enough happiness to trust humanity and its will to pursue happiness.  

Stream of Conscious: Tick

A lone tick echoes in the night,
Resounding against the wooden panels,
Searching for a corner to settle and sleep without fright,
But remember, the tick does not fright
For the tick keeps life in bound,
For what is life without time?
Yes keep those still framed moments alive,
But keep on moving and living with time,
Every breath you take, every dream you make,
Will be within the bounds of time,
Within the boundless borders of time,
The tick will tick regardless of your existence,
It will ignore you, it will forget you,
But it is you who must take advantage of time,
It is your goal to outlive time, to spite time,
Live in the moment,
And live without time.

Thrives

There is a point in time when decisions turn into frozen moments,

Where your mind evolves and releases a butterfly once entrapped within the confines your echoing thoughts,

When you must stop. And think.

Why are we dragging a deflated balloon of our past,

The torn shoelaces and tattered clothes.

We asked ourselves, why do we hold on?

Dreams of the past cannot be the dreams of the future.

Change is inevitable yet unpredictable,

How then can we depend on the abstract memories which echoes within our dreams.

Because a hope.

Thrives.

The Moon Flaunts

The Moon keeps on flaunting its face,
Beckoning for a glimpse of my eyes,
The pavement imitates its blank light,
And gleams like a dulcet sun.

Everything seems dead when the Moon is high,
Parks, cars, and homes afraid to show
Signs of life, the night consumes life;
So this is what the world is like
without that glimpse of life.

A child is afraid of the dark, of the unknown,
But why does the Moon cast an erie sound?
All seems white, all seems well,
Yet it reveals too much of the life that once was.

I am uncertain, I am fearless,
I am lost, I am discovered,
The Moon is high and the night is quiet,
The night is bright and I am blank.

Exuding with Hesitance

During the coldest of nights, during the warmest of days,
I feel your breathe, your beat, your lulling soft voice,
My chest exudes with hesitance, willing to escape
Whenever my minds stumbles upon your face,
No, I am not infatuated in your existence,
Nor am I joyful during your presence,
I am shocked, I am astounded, I am paralyzed with hope,
A hope to look onwards for the next God given day,
That I will see your face and given the chance to embrace your grace,
It seems to me, your existence is what keeps me safe,
Keeps me grounded to reality, whatever that may be,
You've given me the chance to experience a precious piece of life.

Fistful of Grass

I hold onto mother nature with a fistful of grass,

The soft blades tickle my palms as I thrust them away,

Letting them float away on the tides of mother nature breath,

As the wind catches their wings and lofts them away

Into the endless void of Earth's atmosphere.

Each loop each blade of grass,

Engraves a portrait onto the wind's canvas,

A meaningless flutter paints the colors of the world,

And as that breath of wind carries the grass beyond my sight,

Those airborne brushes will share the beauties with the world,

All because of one toss.

Shades of Gray

Shades of gray harmonize

The roar of the ocean,

With the calming of the sky,

As I sit hear pondering.

Before me, a symphony

Of intricate patterns and 

Dull colors lull me

Asleep.

It heals me, it soothes me

Of the convoluted pains

My mind cannot rid of,

As the dull tones wash over me.

Leaving my mind in a lull,

Leaving my mind at peace.

As the shades of gray consume my soul.

Harem of Our Souls

The harem of our souls

Hides the chest of our secrets,

Hidden so far beneath

Where no one knows.

We guard this chest from

Potential wanderers,

But no one dares

To venture into 

The depths of your soul.

For they may become lost

In the catacombs and turn back

Around in frustration,

And so we sit there alone,

Waiting.

But when the bravest of souls

Forge their way through

The harem of our souls,

Not only will they find that chest,

They will find you.  

Stream of Conscious

I wrote this about a year ago.
And so it goes, drifting ever so further from the shores and into the darkening abyss of the ocean as the dusk strikes the silvery rolling tides, shining an unforgivable light back into the sky where the stars stare at the glistening specs of light on the cold surface of the earth, wondering when the end of time will arrive. As the world tilts on its axis and spins in the void which even death cannot exist, lights from all over the universe stare at the insignificant orb floating in the depths of the matter strewn galaxies, wondering how and why life can exist on such a small rock. And yet it continues, drifting further along the current, traveling towards an unknown destination and achieving an empty feat where an infinite number of spectators, living or non-existent, will find a way to praise or ignore the beauty of its existence, but to merely applaud the metaphors and similes drawn from the breathe of a man. Expressing emotions through an incandescent light bulb allows us to show our true colors, but we never know the direction the light will travel or refract. We stare and watch as the world turns on its side, resting in the void man could not recreate. And so it goes.

Biological Heart

Your heart is the center of your existence,

Allowing your soul to cycle the contents of your memories,

Supporting every breathe taken betwixt your thoughts,

And to warm the smirk which rests your lips,

From the past recalled.

We do not know why it continues to vibrate,

Echo and comfort the crevices of our being,

But it is for certain that it has allowed our existence,

The constant nudge against your chest

Reminds us of the beauty of humanity's naivety,

Our trust in mechanisms which bewilder even 

the most vivid of dreamers. 

Clutching onto my memories

An anchor hangs from my heart,

As my footsteps begin to drag,

Hunched over and staring at the ground,

I do not know what lies ahead.

The pangs of the past haunt me,

One by one mocking my decrepit figure,

As the ghosts of my memories

Drain my already weak heart.

Yet I still move onwards,

As time moves me further from the past,

What little remains of me

Is preserved inside my hand.

Clutching onto my warm memories,

Close to my heart.

-Dan