Hope Burns

Written in the same time as Transitions. This is actually the source of that poem. I was writing this one, and there was one stanza that wasn't quite right. It didn't belong to the poem, so I took it out and made it into another poem. And eventually replaced that gap with a new one. I love this one, I don't know, for some reason, I love this one.

Hope Burns

they say the night turns
the hope that burns hot

against trails that return
and friends that change not

with the dark and a lamp
and the last hails of hope

the incense and an offramp
go down a slippery slope

you adjust the dimmer to see
nothing is where nothing should be.

11/28/2006
rgalang

Transitions

Wrote this one last night, while on the cusp of realization that HanJiHye does not see me the same way I see her. I mean I don't know for sure, but objectively speaking thats what everything points to right now, so, you can't go wrong with that. Can't go wrong. So here it is, another outpouring of grief, from a person that, frankly, is fed up with it.

Transitions

watch as twilight takes
beautiful traces of her

away from the mistakes
of that cursed december

feel the night brush
its lips against your cheek

that tells of the crush
that follow the brash meek

bleak is the standard that keeps
alone the joyous heart that weeps

11/28/2006
rgalang

tidal forces

written this morning inside the office. Around 15 minutes. Thank you NEC for paying me to write this crap.

tidal forces

wears normal is the heart
that breaks under the crests

of swirling stop-starts
and an atoning black chest

beach slippers under sands
and tidal reinforcements

fight to not stay inland
away from his arguments

the past, useless and miscast
asks you when is the last

11/29/2006
rgalang

images of winter

This one, written for that girl at my FILIPI2 class again. The one that I dedicated poems to and the one who brought out her boyfriend for the last class of the year. Yeah, that one.

images of winter

the snow gently falls
on this prairie land
this place is now desolate,
covered with white sand
i stand on this ground
with a wilted flower in hand
as the snow turns to hailstone
in this barren land

like stilettos of ice
they pierce through me
this imminent rain
which has made me flee
i seek shelter
under a withering tree
but the casted downpour
quickly cease

the sun slips out
like a horse on all fours
it will melt this snow
in time and in due course
this cold winter dream
has now run its course
i arise from this reverie
without remorse

JackRyan
03/11/2001