Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Inside the Bean and Dancing with Leaves

I love you even though you are tall!



-For Enqing,
and his midnight adventures


Inside the Bean and Dancing with Leaves

I spend your sunrises sleeping
You spend my sunsets awake
Taking each coming and going-
the way others choose to hate

Wool unravels, much like your days,
for you to knit- count & create
A year-long week, peppered with chauvinist pigs
But you'll always eat what's on your plate

Friend you've lost to his vizard,
Watching others build facades
You step, unhesitant.
Declining cigarettes
and joked offers of sex
You walk, in wet cement

Midnight runs and guns that stun,
Journal entries on serviettes
Strolls in the rain, keeping yourself sane
Grateful, for Another's footsteps.

You spend some sunsets QT-ing,
I might toast mine with drinks.
Thank God for that 1963,
And alarm clocks that don't ever have to ring.

-March 25th 2008

(c) xoxoCharis Vera @ 12:22:00 AM 0 comments

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Trompe L'oeil


Trompe L'oeil

You're the lie, that you tell yourself
late in the night
You're the rain, that's still falling
just before the sunrise
And when bodies melt,
like ours did
And faces, they fuzz
You're her truth,
oh that she believes
And yet she is your lie

We're the pieces, of a broken vase
too shattered to fix
We're the dogs, on the shortest leash
too far away for this
But when bodies melt,
and it's not ours
Memories, they blur
You're the truth
that she grips on to
And you believe in your lie

She's the rose, you fall back upon
thornless and pure
The antidote for sorrow,
might she be your cure
But when memory boxes come unlocked
and sand vials break
You're standing there, clothing her in shame
and you're the truth that she'll hate

For now bodies melt,
and it's not ours
In the dark it's not her.
And while you're her truth
She's fallen for you-
She's still your lie

(c) Charis Vera Ng
March 18th 2008

(c) xoxoCharis Vera @ 9:03:00 PM 1 comments

Monday, March 17, 2008

ugly beauty

And there must be beauty in the places where you don't look-

Under the bed, the cold floor, that tight corner he hid himself in for moments too long.
That dusty corner where you can't seem to get the blood off the lines in between the ceramic tiles.
Under the table where you cried, cut, wrote poems and even prayed. Where your words gave you back your sanity and where the world couldn't touch you, even if they tried.

There must be beauty, even in something not alive-

That inextinguishable flame, the dying rose;
The swing that creaks as you sing.
The dried leaves we walk through, laughing
and an empty room that still echoes with music that is no longer playing.

There must be beauty, in the ugliest of things-

The painting ruined by the flood, the cigarette burning between two fingers,
the scars that still hurt after all these years.
Face in the mirror.

There must be beauty, even in something not alive-

A black and white photograph, a letter yellowed with fading words.
Alphabets scrawled in the sand and blown away,
a scent that still clings on to my clothes.
A room, soaked in memories and drenched in things that don't matter anymore.
Not in the least.

And,
there must be beauty,
in the places where we don't look.

(c) xoxoCharis Vera @ 8:09:00 PM 0 comments

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

I sinned again
on my stage
of rage.
God calls;
I fall,
desensitized
by the lies
and false cries
of a world
I criticize.
What’s wrong
is what’s right
in their sight;
and I can’t fight
these illusions,
these confusions,
these intrusions
of my soul.
A world held high
by my standards
won’t fly,
but crash
among the trash.
By what right
do I claim the world
would,
could,
should
live up to my expectation
God did not,
and all are his creation

Jason, 23
-Devozine

(c) xoxoCharis Vera @ 10:25:00 PM 0 comments