i, the saviour

I, the Savior

The Lust of woman
To whom I love…
The pain she carries
Of which I caused.
The smile reflected of a serial lover
Connected by tiny dots
Of the longest dream
The call of aid
Only that I will answer
Not truss by promises
Not times can hold thy back

weehey

weehey

The creaking sound of the door...
Yellow with nasty gold knob that I could never understand
Why it matches…somehow.
The same old boring faces
That willingly fake their smile and lied to
Their brutish, incomplete and ugly faces.
The sanity perceive by the trapped.
Hoping that something can occur out of the ordinary
Anything…as long as it can change the routine...
The rhyming sound of click.
Made by, god knows how many fingers
That thrust inside and crushes it into the silly computer
How annoying to hear it every day but some how manage
To capture the interesting part of the job.
I can never understand it.
Blue cubicle placed at each side of each other
With just a little window suffice to peek at the neighbor
To smug them by silently telling them that perhaps my
Salary is higher than you
Or my chair is much comfortable than yours
Or maybe I am a better looking than you!
How I enjoy the serenity of this silent and unspoken space
Having to laugh as hard as I could inside without any sound of twitches
And the superior sluggish face overlook.
Ready to extend their power, unwillingly accepted by the inferiors.
I am free in the prison created by me
I am eternal by living in this temporary life
And I am rich by accepting that I fed on my forever happiness..

good Will hunting

Good will Hunting

If I ask you about love
You’d probably quote me from a sonnet
But you can’t tell me what it feels like
To wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy.
Never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable.
Known someone that could level you with her eyes
Feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you
Who could rescue you from the depths of hell
And you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be her angel.
To have that love for her be there forever.
And you wouldn’t know about sleeping and sitting up in a hospital room
For months holding her hand.
Because the doctors cud see it in your eyes
that the terms visiting hours
Don’t apply to you.
You don’t know anything about loss.
I doubt you have ever dared to love anybody
That much.