Cyberman: a poem

Some days, I feel like a Cyberman. Like when I'm facebook-friend-culling.
Delete (you are no longer in my life anyway).
Delete (I find your posts annoying).
Delete (how on earth do I even know you?).
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
Or when I'm on chat, choosing to ignore people.
X (no I don't want to "guess what").
X (that's the third time today you've tried to chat with me about nothing at all).
X (I'm sorry, I just don't care all that much).
X.
X.
Goes invisible.
These are the days when I wonder how on earth all these people know me, and why on earth I know all these people. And then I realize I don't, and they don't.

Nothing to See Here: a poem

Dim bars of blue and red
Dance across my ceiling
Play across the sheer curtains
Gyrate on the walls
And strobe like a disco through my windows.

Rhythmic, pulsating, like the beating of a heart.

The lights dance quietly to the hum of engines, and the chatter of neighbors.

Some of them are walking towards them,
But are stopped by the neon yellow coats and ruby hats.
Most of them wander aimlessly on the sidewalks, making small talk.
The teens have gathered in little groups on the lawns. They're laughing.
Some of the adults are smiling, too.
Steam rises from the hot pavement. The air is humid.
The dancing reds and blues make it a block party.

One girl, maybe seven or eight, turns to her mother.
"It smells like camp! It's like camp!"
She starts jumping up and down, pounding the sidewalk with her little feet.
"Camp! Camp! Camp! Camp!"
The lights dance in rhythm to her chants, exciting her like a strobe would an epileptic.

The lights skips across the neighbor's roof. They flicker in the attic window. Smoke wreathes around the chimney in a seductive scarf dance. It promenades down the shingles.
This light is orange.

Two Prayers

To Our King, who lovest His subjects as His children,
May your name be praised above all names, glorified above all the unworthy idols in my life.
May Your mighty works never be forgotten or diminished.
May Your words remain forever in the most hallowed places of my heart.
May Your love be the defining element of my character.
May Your holiness be the one source of reverence and fear, the one thing that brings me to my knees.
May Your grace be my joy and my song.
And may You be the center, aim, and love of my life.

God, give me a heart of compassion and sacrifice. Teach me to desire the good of those I love over my own good. Let me endure pain, knowing that through it, I benefit those I love dearly, hence making such pain no pain at all, but joy. Teach me not to be selfish in feeling, but generous in acts, not self-serving in thought, but loving in deeds. And may my mind mold itself to my actions, that I may glorify and serve You in both.

Amen.

Innocents

We were such innocents. The world, for us, held nothing but schoolwork, play, and the occasional spat with mom or dad.
And then the changes came. We no longer trusted, no longer believed, and no longer felt truly safe.
We had begun to ask, "Why?"
Schoolwork was either evaluated in the light of our future hoped-for careers, or carelessly dumped. Playtime became full of duplicitous motives - and play for the sake of play abandoned as childish. Every argument became a life-or-death battle for truth, justice, and that little thing called personal pride. We entered into the politics of our people, the detective work of our own design, everything analyzed for some hidden motive.
We second-guessed one another, third-guessed, fourth-guessed ourselves into breakups and divorces, battles and wars.
Idealism crashed and raged against the cliffs of reality, and broke upon the shores of various non-realities and secondary half-realities. And although emotion, everyone claimed, had been left on the roadside, replaced by logic, logic was in fact out to lunch, and emotion manned the counter against its return. No one really noticed the difference, anyway.
And no one remembered what a soul looked like, because no one saw anyone else's, and most doubted that they had even existed in the first place.

Loss: a poem

I had a balloon,
a lovely balloon, big and blue and buoyant, but
I loosened my grip
and felt the string start to slip, slipping, slipped
Through my fingers
away to the big, blue sky as it hastened to rise, to soar, to ride the current
Flying away from me.

Several poems

Hello, y'all

I have to submit a one-sentence poem for my AP Literature class, for a contest. I would like to know, which one of these one-sentence poems do you prefer. Your opinions, votes, and constructive criticism please.

The hedgehog is safe
but he cannot hug,
While the rabbit loves freely,
and watches her children die
and die
and die.

So much for depressing poem number one.
Here is semi-depressing poem number two.

I gamble my heart at a casino called love,
where the rich bring their diamonds,
the strong bring their clubs,
and the spades dig the graves of those fools, much like me, who had only their hearts;

outside, the abstainers call us all enslaved,
and yet I have no diamonds,
and I have no clubs,
but I hold to the hope that I will find a love, before spade comes to bury my bankrupt old soul.

Last one.

Eyes ablaze,
the revolutionary youth and life and spirit march to meet the status quo in glorious battle;
Eyes of glaze,
they're dead.

So yes, most of these are depressing. Don't ask. I just came up with them on the spot. They reflect nothing of my character or current mood...I think. So your comments please. Thanks!

Love

Love is not...
a fancy birthday cake from Carlo's.
Love is...
your mom waiting in line for half an hour to buy you a cake from Carlo's, and then keeping the whole thing a secret so she can surprise you with it.

Love is not...
reading Jurassic Park together.
Love is...
reading Jurassic Park with your dad, and then discussing how to fix their security system flaws.

Love is not...
a secret handshake.
Love is...
You and your sister designing a secret handshake together, to be performed every evening before bed.

Love is not...
a hug.
Love is...
your brother insisting on giving you a hug at least once a day.

Love is not...
sharing your friend's fascination with Doctor Who.
Love is...
discussing and sharing Biblical applications of Doctor Who with your friend.

Love is not...
109 facebook notifications telling you "happy birthday."
Love is...
1 facebook notification telling you that your friend is praying for you.

Love is not...
a church building.
Love is...
the people of the church.

Love is not...
being in the same debate club together.
Love is...
having detailed discussions, both in and out of club, concerning both club-related and non-club-related tangents.

Love is not...
a story you wrote with a friend.
Love is...
your friend talking with you on voice chat for seven hours straight, as you write.

Love is not...
the adult who helps you with youth group.
Love is...
the adult who goes out of her way to help you and mentor you as you start the youth group.

Love is not...
complaining about the problems of Christianity with your friend.
Love is...
carefully dissecting and going through each problem with your friend, and then trying to apply to them to life.

Love is not...
the person who "follows" you on deviantart.
Love is...
the person who asks you why you stopped drawing, and encourages you to continue.

Love is not...
debating Protestantism vs. Orthodoxy.
Love is...
debating Protestantism vs. Orthodoxy, and then praying for one another afterward.

Love is not...
hanging out during speech and debate tournaments.
Love is...
watching each others' speeches and debate rounds, and giving one another detailed feedback and encouragement.

Love is not...
going skiing with your friends.
Love is...
your friend escorting you back to the lodge when you twist your knee, and then staying there to keep you company for the rest of the day.


Love is not...
a distant deity.
Love is...
a man on a cross, saying, "It is finished."

Thank you, Mom, Dad, Jiajia, PJ, Michael, Grace, Markian, Josh and Aaron, my church, Mrs. Sandy, Priscilla, Joel, Brandon, Chad, Ryan, and God. 16 people, or groups of people, that have made my 16th year of life the adventure that it has been.

Pass It On: a poem

I used to look in the mirror, and see glaring faults.
A bump, a mark. A lack of symmetry and things out of place.

After you spoke two words, my reflection changed.

I look in the mirror, and see a brilliant smile.
A glow, a spark. A charming unevenness, and lopsided grace.

I used to look in the mirror, and criticize my reflection.
"What happened to you?" Frown, fuss.

After you spoke two words, my tongue switched gears.

I look in the mirror, and simply grin.
"Lookin' good there." Strike a pose.

I used to look in the mirror. I still do. But now all I see are the two words you spoke: "Hey, beautiful."

Pass it on.

Psalm 88

A song, the lyrics based on Psalm 88

VS. I
O Lord my God,
God of my salvation,
I cry out to you by day
and I scream for you at night.
Hear my prayer;
Listen to my cry.
For my soul is filled with strife,
And my death draws near.

PRECHORUS
I am as good as dead
I’m a man without strength.
I am left among the dead
like the slain in the grave.
I am forgotten, cut off from your hand.
Lord, I’ve called you...but where are you?

CHORUS
Do the dead praise your name?
Is your love declared from the grave?
Are your wonders known in the dark?
Your faithfulness in Abbadon?

So Lord I call upon your name.
Lord, I need an answer.

VS. II
Lord, explain
why you’ve placed me here.
In the depths of this dark pit
Underneath your crashing waves.
I am alone
my friends have disappeared
I am trapped in this dark place
with no escape.

CHORUS X2

BRIDGE
Every day I call on you
Every night my prayers I send
I lift my hands to you
Why do you hide your face?

Every day I call on you
Every night my prayers I send
My eyes grow dim with tears
Lord save me from this place!

INSTRUMENTAL

CHORUS II
May the dead praise your name
May I declare your love to my grave
May I shine your light in the dark
Be faithful in the valley of death

So Lord I call upon your name
‘Cause Lord, you are the answer.