she, is misunderstood she brings forth such, sorrow rather like, mist in moonlight where the path is hidden and the trees with their dark foliage hide their beauty in shadows
she is, beneath it all beneath her shadow deep beneath the roots of her dark mystery she is, in her own way a spectre of love
she loves … she wishes she could love as tenderly as those mists as magical as that moon as soft as those beautiful leaves but her gothic soul, crumbles at the very thought of,
Inspired by the video of an article I read in Emergence Magazine #1 called Lost World about the destruction of the Cambodia’s Mangrove Forests for their sands. When she sees the pretend waterfall in Singapore’s Lost World complex she says, “If this was real, imagine how beautiful it would be.” and the following poem appeared.
how gentle the snowflake
as it
tethers itself
to a falling feather
and thus
its impossible lightness
gives the feather
that extra bit of gravitas
and the feather says
“Look at me, look at me
riding the sky, surfing the swell.
Look at me, look at me.”
how heavy the feather
as it
falls in swift motions
of despair
as snowflakes
impossible in their lightness
coagulate, become one
to break the feather’s pride
and thus
it takes one last peek
one last reach
one last breath
before
their lightness
crushes
how this time this, impossible feeling of distance
I feel such a longing for longevity yet at the same time I feel its breath begin to cremate and I feel, also her kisses kissing me to feel the distance for it is such a distance where the language of sorrow echoes along the path from the fires those joyful fires, breathing