A dawn of advance
The world was ready,
The people weren't
And their children heaved through years of framework,
It was progress...
Alas the good deeds
People found new needs,
They set out to reach
The things they would teach...
A night to recall
The battle was won,
The war neverending
Upon it they weaved a special network,
It was useless...
A spun web of fate
Of gaiety and hate,
Forgotten the days,
Of the mortal ways...
An eclipse of minds
Oiled engines and souls,
Young, riotous rage
And they wanted blood for joy and fireworks,
Evolution...
The beast inside…
© 2017 SachikoMochiko " Sachi Ruaya
What’s worse than killing someone? Leaving them suffering alive. Now, whether or not they suffer is up to them…
Cracks…that’s how the light comes in.
You found that someone,
Who you deem; is the last piece of you
O’ but that one…that other one just "
…
How long will your grip hold?
It’s a dark feeling; jealousy
Where green, grey and black swirls weave your heart
Like steel, poison ivy
As your blood curdles and boils,
your red-laced eyes eyeball
That one who touched your precious
Your precious gem that you admire from afar.
Your precious one, who births a hazy warm chest.
Your precious half…the other fading half of you.
But you refrain from killing
And instead of making arrangements to prey,
You keep that one alive but suffering from your fangs
Your inner beast lurks inside,
already devoured half of you and yourself.
Its true form will not feast unless you do
Your fangs…its fangs bite, drawing thick, oozy blood
Of the one you hold captive in your prison
All for that one precious one, you shed blood
Your bite…your torture…your beast
Is a reflection of the steel, poison ivy
Is a being born from your selfishness…your jealousy
But you continue to feast even when you know
Know that this beast will soon consume your flesh, Bone-clean
Because pleasure will come from ones’ suffering
You are blinded by the beast; your scarlet eyes see no more,
the beauty of your precious gem…
Blurry. Vivid. Pitch-black.
You have lost sight of your intentions,
And your precious gem’s light is no more
Now, you know: You. Are. Devoured.
You sit there on the bottom of the beast’s stomach
Living with the pure darkness of your own
Alone. With your crackling, dry heart -unable to love
After all, you were just blind.
Destined to lurk in darkness.
Emptiness. Your skin slowly peels off from the dry darkness
Slowly…painfully, in this prison, the veil is ripped
Revealing something undeniably powerful
You.
The bleeding wounds of which the skin is peeled
Thus, shunned the lies and unveils the truth
The truth of you embedded inside -within the beast
…
The light suppresses the dry darkness
With your passion, memories, joy and love
You slice through the belly…striving for freedom once more!
Author’s Note:
This is one of the small fragments to ready one of my upcoming masterpiece. I will write more poems like this (having the same motivational force). WORRY is next.
The Endless Cycle
© 2017 SachikoMochiko
Every mistake, loss, failure or breakdown…it’s your choice whether or not to suffer from it.
“I am a human. Just like you and me. I’m young, 13 years of age, but I already feel old. I have learnt that, whatever situation you are in now, it’s temporary. So, enjoy or endure it to the fullest!
Whether is another human, your passion or yourself, you fall for it. This poem I wrote is inspired by both my life and my fellow friends who write with me, sharing their stories. There are many different ways to view this poem. I spent many hours choosing how to structure this and the word choice. I wanted to share this to people who can relate and inspire other writers.”
I’m absolutely sick of falling
Falling in love and making the same mistake
Eaten by jealousy
Thinking that it would work
Even when that person who I sought,
Catches another
Thinking that they want you
Even if the kindness expressed is just…
Them.
Whenever I fall,
And no one sought me
I fall into a deep, cold abyss
Isolating both heart and body
From this rotting world
Suffocating me and myself
From thinking that I will fall again
But again, I find peace at the bottom…
Sitting just above the bedrock of grief
Where your screams of heart break
Is muted by the sea of tears
But I hunger to fall
To seek for another cradle of arms
After craving for so long
I trick myself
That my heart has moved on
To someone for me
But deep, deep down…
I know it is just a mask
A mask to cover the disheartening pain
And to keep me sane
As I walk amongst the beings
It’s an endless cycle…
A cycle that is deemed to run my world
My kingdom,
My psyche,
My crust,
Like a wheel with a tempting needle
Waiting to cast me to sleep
As it wheels me away to again start the cycle
Even if my consciousness is aware
I shrug it off thinking I’m happily a rolling pebble
A rolling pebble that has been dropped
Dropped into a saltwater sea of fish
Where plenty of fish swim to escape
Escape the rotting world above
I’m a pebble after all
I was meant to sink to the bottom
Or be split in half by the fish
But as the hundreds and thousands of centuries
Wear me down
My calloused, guarded heart cracks open
As the pressure of the rotting earth
I. Become. The. Diamond.
It was not long after,
I was extracted from the bedrock of grief
HEATED…
POLISHED…
Until the skin of this pebble
Peels like those onion that brought tears to my eyes
Someone has found the brightest part of me
Someone has found my beauty
Someone has also fallen…like me
In a mere emotion with two sides
Love
&
Hate
Well, congratulations that someone
Because you have found a rare one
Only one here on this earth
My mere gratitude cannot express…
Express how undeniably grateful I am
===
The two of us creates another;
“I’m absolutely sick of falling”,
she said…
-SachikoMochiko
Verse 1:
You can cast your worries on me, babe.
'Cause it's safer in your arms.
This place is our safe haven.
Where do we go from here?
Chorus:
You held the world
At your fingertips.
Yet, I cannot seem
To let you go so easily.
Verse 2:
I won't care
As long as
You are here with me.
I smile at the
Thought of us.
Bridge:
Let's take this chance
And make it our's.
'Cause you're mine to keep
And I: your's to keep.
Last-Chorus:
Let's start from here
Lose the past.
Change our minds.
Take a chance on us.
Written by: Alejandra Jimenez & Andrés Sánchez
Fable
Creation of the world
At first, everything was silence. The universe was at peace, and nothing existed but a solitary god, in the form of a wolf. This wolf, the white wolf was on a long slumber, but eventually he woke up. After his awakening he decided that he should create the world. To do this he first created three gods, one for each element of the universe. God of earth, the black rabbit, god of water, a giant water turtle and god of the wind, the ethereal falcon. They lived peacefully before their long work for creating the world. The white wolf demanded the three childish gods his view for the new world. It must be colorful he said, full of life he demanded, it must be big, and there must always be light.
The gods got to work with the white wolf’s request for his vision of the perfect world, but there were some problems. The gods unfortunately were childish and had no self control. They didn’t complete the task that the white wolf set them to. They created the world, but in midst of chaos and disaster. Gods were always fighting, thinking who was the most important of them all, creating most of our landscapes and phenomenons. The god of water created the rivers, oceans, and lakes.During a fight the god of wind got mad at the god of water, therefore, he throwed all his anger by creating storms, taking out the peacefulness of still water. The god of earth created the land, while in another fight with god of wind about who gets the more space, he created the mountains, trying to build up even more, overshadowing god of wind.
There were also other factors that contributed, the gods had very particular personalities. The god of water didn’t like fighting that much, so he decided he shall leave so he could be in peace somewhere else, his presence kept flowing all oceans, rivers, and lakes. But by leaving a part of the Earth turned into ice, and that’s how it was created. God of wind had very changing personalities, depending on the day, so he created the seasons, when he was angry and didn’t feel anything he created winter, cold as his personality.
All their actions destroyed the peace that the wolf, the god of gods had been living in, and he was tired of hearing the same problems and issues all over again, just from them three. After this, he decided more people was needed for distraction, so he created human beings, giving them things to exist and develop. Watching their arguments and events they were going through was more entertaining for the god of gods. Creating new ones every time others ceased to exist.
The lasers of rage and justice
need not be armed on demand
a deep breath is a wise, serendipitous act
Staring into sultry, swooned eyes
convincing a placid moon
to rest the tides
it's OK to indulge the mind
and just stare euphorically at the bizarre sunshine
There's resolve in reflection
with blissful malaise
embracing certain simplistic truths
Despite the repetitive doldrums
and limited experiences on this globe
something beautiful exists in soul mines
something only serenity can find
within a sort of internal, whimsical lobe
An extravagant core
able to be polished
at the epicenter of all the surrounding grime
taking true character, courage, and diligence to discover
especially when unearthing said luster of others
but the rewards are all the sweeter
and the gains are wholly sublime
When does morning start?
When a creature awakes,
Or when the sun rises?
Yea, the morning is
When a creature awakes
To find it starting anew
In the world dominated
By mortal souls.
The human wakes up
First by opening its eyes,
Then stretching its muscles
And sitting up in a position
To retreat from the bed
That held it prisoner
During the long, dark night.
Out of bed it goes
Attending its normal
Robotic morning routine
Whilst thinking of the future,
Of what the day holds,
And how the day will go.
Either gleefully or woefully
Does the human think of this
For not all mornings
Are filled with happiness and glee.
Fearful not is the human
Who takes things as they go
Wave by wave.
Wave by wave harassing it,
Wave by wave attacking it,
Wave by wave saddening it,
Wave by wave entertaining it,
Wave by wave knocking it down.
Each wave the human does take
Accepting each as a challenge,
As an opponent, an obstacle,
And one that must be rid of.
Defeat is not in its dictionary,
For there is no defeat
If one can rise again,
And face the same challenge
To only be victorious.
The human does not give up,
It does not ponder on the past,
But it rises from its ashes -
Waking up to start anew
In a world dominated
By mortal souls.
nowadays all she does is whine about her bodily pains,
but when you were left alone,
she stayed drunk, prowling the bars
days on end,
oblivious to the emotional wreckage left
on your chest, like a hot iron
melted through the tender heart of a 10 year old,
the open wound to the
skin,
cauterized shut
too soon,
without even leaving any open flesh
for the pain to be released,
seared closed with the shame, pain, and false pride of generations,
sealed in for years like a safety box of magnets,
pulling you towards anything and everything self-destructive
in a desperate search for some morsel of hope,
that the next christmas dinner might be more than
knocking on the doors of neighbors, being lucky enough to be
asked in to share a holiday meal,
and an attempt to be noticed for something other than the burden
you were to her deep and fervent longing for
the escape, into smoke filled rooms,
that reeked with the heavy, putrid smell of week-old frying grease,
cigarettes, and hairspray, that became one of your main
reasons for going to live with your dad--
other than the day she up and left for california,
a 50 dollar bill to substitute her mac and cheese, dribbled with
one and a half inches of ashes off a pall mall,
only to be less than reluctantly welcomed by him,
and a stepbrother who most always was
notably more worthy of better dirtbikes, nicer clothes
and a much more frequent pat on the back
for a job well done,
that most often wasn't.
a dollar for him and quarter for you, along with the bottom bunk,
that smelled like pee from all the years he wet the bed,
only ever good enough for sloppy seconds--
and then there was brownie,
poor broken down swayback, with skin infections,
baldspots and degenertive bone disease,
in light of your brother's black stallion stud,
as if the 6 inch scar on the back of your leg wasn't enough
from your father's drunken rage with a 4 inch hunting knife,
and the glass from the window that left it's souvenir the night he threw you
across the room, all before the age of 14.
shit.
i may have shot that horse between the eyes too.
11:37 PM 6/26/2013
©
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