Collection of Narrative Poems: Old Poems (More to Come...) PART I: Soliloquy with Dark Themes -

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Collection of Narrative Poems: Old Poems (More to Come...) PART I: Soliloquy with Dark Themes

Collection of Narrative Poems

PART I: Soliloquy with Dark Themes

Part II and Part III


the undead

bludgeoned heart
so hidden inside my flesh

blood drips
blood spills
blood flows within i feel


i cry yet not a tear is shed
i moan yet a sound is heard
i die yet not a soul shall know...

i walk among the living
i smile past people
i exist as though alive

but still i feel inside my bludgeoned heart
but not a soul shall know
not a soul shall know



water flows
and stabs my heart within
the more it flows
deeper does my heart be stabbed;

water flows
mirrors my fragile parts:
i see my pride so broken

water of pain
through endless seas

you kill me with each stab
i live with every drop of you

that i may drink of healing waters
so wounds be healed of pain

water from my soul
water from my eyes
be shed

you stab
you heal
you show me


The Gentle Flowing Stream

i cast a pebble upon The Gentle Flowing Stream
so small was it which my tiny hands could grasp
and reached not where lilies gracefully dance

the sun from slumber rose as my hands grew
so larger stones grabbed, so farther raced
each one i flung upon the waters

my stone stroked a lily, such sweet victory!
but only for a time, for soon the stone sunk

i hurled then rocks yet not a petal swayed
my strength diminished with graying hands
rocks become stones become pebbles again

the sun reunited with its humble abode
as i cast my last pebble
contented as when i first cast one

i drew my final breath from death polluted air

but The Gentle Flowing Stream forever flows
and lilies gracefully dance amid waters
awaiting he who next will cast his stones.


The Diplomat: "It Is Finished!"

The Diplomat passed by a hostile Crescent territory,
innocent of shadows in the darkness lurking-
spirits waiting to exhale their souls out.
They beat Him with homely cedar sticks
so alien to Him, beating Him to death
and gambled for what grave itself claims:
His skull one sold to voodoos barbaric
would do nothing but for quackery use it;
another His legs donated to bluish no legs
who kicks now slums out of his way;
and inner organs all were sold priceless as a pea
to any-colored skin who paid them brains or arms
for ego wars that hide behind nations.

His blood that poured full into a porcelain, Oriental jar
now floating bright (illuminates the red sea made host).
It's voyage around the world finds end in red wine bottles
so offered in a gathering of international leaders.
Each drinker raises his serving on a toast for "peace!"
"Peace" echoes back and forth on every wall which divides us
but they care not for anything but the wine. They gulped their
glass to the last drop and licked their lips with innocent bliss.



my mind is clouded
i cannot think through the clouds

i see yet does not recognize what i see
i hear yet does not understand what i hear
i speak yet does not realize what i say
i touch yet does not feel what i touch

i wish to blow these clouds away
that i may think so i may see
and hear and speak and feel
but i cannot blow these clouds away

let clouds then cloud my mind
and weigh me down a while

i shall be blind of sight
i shall be deaf of hearing
i shall be mute of words
i shall be numb of feelings

yet only while clouds are few

when clouds abound too much
they will drop down as rain
and be no more...

let clouds then cloud my mind
for only now alone.


i cry of tears like rain

i cry of tears like rain tonight
a storm rages inside my heart
and shakes the whole wide world
yet only i feels each movement;
thunder billows and deafens my ears
but not a sound escapes this prison
so hidden inside my flesh;
lightning strikes the towering walls
i built from sin and pride
each strike so fierce as a dagger's stab
and pains my soul and pains my spirit too

i feel blood flow and spill from within
yet not a drop is seen from without
i feel pain beyond
my soul beyond my spirit beyond me
(with every drop of tears like rain)

the whole wide world need not know my pain
the whole wide world be blind or so
i shall but cry some more.


i am a paradox

i am a paradox to the world
as much as a paradox to myself

my words are hidden in a box so locked
inside my heart/ my words are monsters
which dwell within my soul/ if is speak
them out they will as monsters devour you/
if i speak them not they will as monsters still
devour you, devour me without you knowing so
i will speak them out through writings anyway
write, publish them in papers and magazines,
anywhere read it devour you, devour me/ read,
write the world, "they're reading my writings!"

my songs are notes of what i feel/ melodies
of what i am/ lines of who i am inside/
i can sing my songs but not as well as you
can/ i can play my songs on some instruments
but not as well as you can/ but i will sing
and i will play from my heart anyway/
sell it sometime for companies to record,
manipulate or improve it the way i hate or
love for it to become/ hear it on the radio
and say to the world, "they're playing my songs!"

my words, my songs are me but not i/
i sing, i write what i am, what i am not/
i ask what am i? what am i not?/
the world asks me what am i? what am i not?/
the world cannot answer itself, i cannot answer
the world, i cannot answer myself/ i know not
what i am, i know not what i am not

my words, my songs are not enough to measure
who i am, who i am not/ more is there that
must measure me, as with you, as with all of
us be measured by ourselves, by others, by God/
my words, my songs are not enough i agree
yet i don't believe so much/ i agree, i disagree both
/ i believe, i believe not both/ i am,
i am not both/ the world is, the world is not both.

i am paradox to the world
as much as a paradox to myself
so i sing, so i write.



wide awake i feel the sky
weigh down my weightless soul
my numb heart pains from daggers
and heaven's blow as blood spills,
bathing my filthy body clean
i win, i fall, i bleed-
gripping the blade off not my flesh
but deeper push to cut my spirit too
my vision blurs, i grope for sight
of love, of hate, of war...

as dark-winged one paints
my thoughts with cynical hue,
i mix my colors with his and die.



thoughts of he haunting me
through the shadows of the night

he leaves his hearse, an octagon-shaped chamber
and leaps out of it

he soars on wings of shadowy gloom
a crimson-colored cape laced around his neck

my window creeks and opens wide
the specter enters in

and pirouettes through my room and settles down
a chair beside my bed...

i feel both pain and ecstasy
as blood he sucks from me

i lay unmoved as a corpse,
it won't be long till i become one.


union of the undead

i married a vampire
he pierces my soul to pieces with every stare
of crimson eyes so red of

nails so long
digs my heart like daggers oh these
fangs so sharp

but oh!
did i see not
those crimson eyes, nails so long, fangs so sharp!
no, i did not see
but hazel brown eyes, well-chiseled nose, luscious lips!
i did see

blood! blood! blood!

(100 years ago)
my body he drained of blood
from that fair day of flowers and bells

his crimson eyes pierced my soul
his nails so long dug my heart
his fangs so sharp

he bit my neck and i became a vampire too
or is it the other way around?

-inspired by May Day Eve from Nick Joaquin during a Phil. Lit. class



I am cursed again
by one of unforgiving spirit,
break her curses' power,
this wretched life!
(Shall curses curse this wretched life again
that I may dig deeper down my grave?)

from great heights
where once my wings have soared.
(How high have I reached on sanguine wings of pride, I measured not
yet lowest of low have I crashed below-forlorn, defeated, down).

What is my life?
Nothing but my living death.

if I could turn back
I never was born at all.
(Was I born to live so lifeless?)

Cursed be these invisible tears-
my world daggers me from behind.


Pearl Harbor

American boys whose faces
radiate as the Sun
were sailors and pilots in '41.
Princely faces bloodied,
bodies of budding hearts butchered
by yellow, little treacherous birds;
all in a holiday's rest
of infamy, as morning mist
dewed with blood and water,
blue Pacific waters red with blood
and blood drenched ships
of paradise-cradled Pearl Harbor.

Their blood evaporated into crimson clouds
precipitating a hail of fleshly chunks
upon their sleeping giant mother
blanketed in stars and stripes;
who in turn, spread her iron eagle wings
to avenge her children's plight:
a thousand youth entombed on sunken metal graves
which once floated, undefeated like Titanic.


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