Weather

It comes in droves on a good day,
Unexpected, like the first rain
Drops on the head before the clouds
Can fully overtake the blue sky.

Despite the sensation of cold,
All logic escapes through sleepless eyes
And leaves but a body to wonder whether or not
The umbrella shall open.

Green things and moss grow in absence of an answer,
Their little leaves mocking the glacial pace of thinking
And stone begins to replace flesh
And panic sets in with a torrent of rain, a splash of thunder
And breathing is snatched away by a hurricane of thoughts.

For a moment, heart muscles forget the rhythm of old drums,
Frost travels through airways,
Ice in veins,
Then birdsong, tenuous and somber shoots, through the aching–
And a thought:
“It is a good day.”

Left at that, sun goes down and
The day begins again.

 

–Mien

Ice Age

The world–
It’s glazed
With ice
Climate change?
Or is it growing pains
Or the drivel of a man
With a crown on his head–
A mad saint.

It’s slow-turning, a mammoth
Of fat in dead winter–
A cemetery where things rot
Forgotten and unused
And eyes of dead friends, offsprings–
They stare
While this saint prays

A song for salvation or a fable,
Whichever entices first.

 

–Mien

Man-made

Once, the scenery flew past in a single bound
Now it stands still as it should
Amidst railroad tracks overgrown and lost,
Train rusting elsewhere, a whale carcass
At the bottom of some earthly pit;
They think gods came and tread on these synthetic works
Yet fail to realize they are gods of their own ingenius;
The feeling of abandon festers until its
Petrichor solidifies once more
As life, then death —
Inevitable abandon.

 

—Mien

Rainy Day

Maybe when tomorrow comes the sky will be dry,
Tearfalls gone with the blush of a new day–
And a sigh to carry these clouds back home.

Birdsong will sprout from my lips like newborn buds,
And my limbs will sway like the lovesick willows,
And my heart–the fish that leaps from the pond.

 

—Mien

Character Assassination

Do you want to know how to kill me?
All you have to do is
Destroy all that I live for, effortlessly,
With one system, one thought process–
Just take away my passion
And nothing else can kill more than
Stripping me of who I used to be

I’ll tell you briefly what it’s like to die:
For centuries it seems all I do is wake up
And stare at what my hands once wanted to
Pick up and create
And now all I do is regret
Staring at walls and taking in the feed
I barely think now except for those times
Before the murder was done

If you kill me this way
It’s a painless assassination
And colorless and stainless
I’ll die when you lobotomize me
And maybe when the time comes it’ll be
Your turn.

 

-Mien

Still Waiting

I remember what love felt like
When time went still and I could catch my
Breath
And future was but soft and still–
Just a fairytale.
True love’s kiss was all it took, and here I am
Still waiting
For what?

 

-Mien

---

I don’t remember when I wrote this, haha.

In Current Times

In current times,
The sadness of losing a loved one
Can be experienced through a glance of the news.

They say technology is destroying the bonds
Of our society,
Yet here we are, standing together
Stronger than before,
More or less.

 

-Mien

Cycle

This is the feeling of
despair
when night breaks to dawn
and awakens those who
have slept
rested
and come up again renewed,
yet, here, a lone
eyes glazed and open and fingers
at a desk screaming for
something
to relieve
them.
Hoarse-voiced and bleary-sighted
Damn this
fragile yet sturdy feeling,
a vigilante traveling towards
other like emotions, rousing
revolutions with but one statement, this
base for insanity, this
knowing that again it happens
when night breaks to dawn and
What can i do to
Stop it

-Mien

Dear god,

Dear god,

They sent angels to dive-bomb us again, saying prayers as they whistled through the air. I saw from a distance, they splattered in a flurry of feathers, soaked with the red of dawn when they landed. In their embracing arms they took some to hell with them. When the Heroes came there was no light that followed.

They said, you will be safe.

They spoke of angels and I could only be reminded of the ones that come for us. Dread curdled what hours of sleep mustered, set into my bones with the first-born ache of my home. During soot-cloud hours, the angels raged against one another on promised land, brilliant and pure in will. What did I look like, so covered in dust and ash and powder, baptized by the light of their fervor.

They said, the battle is won.

The angels had gone, retracted with white–teethed smiles–badges of honor–or dragged under, fallen. I surveyed the land, all that was left, all that dared not breathe lest it brought those hungry beings back. There were no more souls to take, but here was revealed the rift to hell: cracked and splintered and seething. For a moment I saw them beckon my soul.

I ran before they could take me.

Father, forgive me.

 

-Mien

Elegy For the Unborn

We were a stillborn breath that swept over the centuries:

taught from birth that we were incomplete, we tried to love our holes in order to feel

whole

and yet they shunned the idea so instead we listened to the darkness within and loved ourselves with sweet sharpness;

as our bones grew we feared the day when life as we knew it would end; we began nurturing a path in our heads instead of our hearts, anxiety from thought schools and the geometry of things–the different angles, the x’s we couldn’t yet know. we were too scared to gamble our life on an abyss of unknowables–that was the essence of our thoughts;

dropping out of a system of classes, flying through shadows who took our colors and left us dry and white,

stripping, flaying,

we fell hollow at the end of the line, chains taking the place of our skeletons and muscles hardening–

Were we still human?–

our vision growing short, some growing far, some seeing future, some seeing past,

and yet still all haunted by the beating of our hearts;

One to start a revolution: One body, one foot stepping forward, one fist raised, one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one one

UNITY

unmistakably a collar is clamped around our necks but because they are made of flowers we pretend to not see them. if we took them off we wouldn’t know where to go. we hang on to umbilical cords tied around our airways because we were taught that nutrition is transported through it but we were never taught that there is no more need–they never wanted us to wean off the support so we cling hopelessly to it in hopes that we achieve our hope through artificial hope;

some take the ax–and well, we don’t speak of them because we weren’t meant to see, to hear, to say, so we stay where we’re comfortable and when one breaks out of the cave they are gone. we are left watching shadow puppets on the wall while they laugh at us from the outside because they would never subject themselves to the darkness again, so we suffer and simmer and die, unknowing the world and letting them laugh and retract into a fetus, as if we were to be born again–

 

-Mien