LeonFlux
The Marble Statue
There it dances, a monument unto his beloved,
a single, silent depiction of one's joy,
with a stillness of motion captured for everyone to see.
The sunlight glistening among the orchids and the roses
as they brush up along her, caressing her body.
He gazes at it from his window, remembering what it once was,
remembering how she once was,laughing and playing in his utopian garden,
dancing with an innocence that he's long lost, long to regain.
These frayed and folded memories of her come back as they always do,
but as like a rose, with a thorn,
his creation, so lovingly wrought, stings of these memories.
Years of his life, breathed into this glistening white treasure,
and years more about his loss of her.
She is gone, and now she stands there in her place,
neither speaking to him, nor laughing with him,
but silently dancing, obliviously content, now and forevermore.
Troddened Path
A feeling of utter hopelessness permeates through the damp air.
I am lost.
My path, once clear, lighted, and straight,
has now become one littered with debris,
shrowded by undergrowth, faded by travel,
scattered by the footsteps of others before me.
A scream of dispair and self-loathing escapes my lips.
I sink to the ground, exhaustion gripping me tightly,
my knees barely make a sound as they shred against the shape edged path.
I am not worthy to travel this road.
Silent hands pick me up, urge me onward.
I scream again, frustrated that I am forced to go on,
never to rest, no time no place for a reprive.
To lash out at the hands, a desire foremost within my mind,
but one my body can not act upon, too weary to do so.
Why will they not let me rest?
My mind, body, and soul, are exhausted from existance,
yet the unseen hands refuse to let me rest.
Can they not see? I am not alive but only for them,
and yet still, who is to say I really am alive?
My eyes reflect nothing, my flesh, completely numb.
No...dulled from the constant pain.
As I lurch forward, a group of will o' the wisps materalizes,
playfully dancing in front of me, beside me, around me,
teasing, prancing alongside me,
putridly colorful, disgustingly alive.
They are here to taunt me,
to remind me what I once had been,
what I desire, what I am not.
Bringing my foot foward, it catches a vine,
a pale, brown, shriveled, vine, snaking across the rocks and dirt.
As I lie there, bleeding, empty,
I close my eyes and breathe in, air wheezing into my lungs.
The dull sounds, once blended together, now piercing.
The hiss of a snake, the squawk of a crow,
the nigh silent flutter of an overflying vulture,
all cutting through the hazzy noise around me.
Again, the hands try to pick me back up,
but I slip away, blood smeared over my body,
now smeared on the many hands.
A sudden ripple of cloth catches my ear.
I breathe in once last time, and open my eyes.
A young man, pleasantly groomed, clothed in silk and gold,
nonchalantly strolls by, aloft on a small cloud,
blistfully ignorant of what is around him.
I grimace in pain and hatred,
silently glaring at the young man.
As he disappears behind an oak tree, growing inches from my face,
the vulture glids down landing next to me.
I cough with my last exhale,
the bark now flecked with blood.
More blood dyes the ground as the vulture tugs on one arm,
tugging, pulling, as I close my eyes for a final time.
Dead Man Walking
I walk down the dark pathway,
shallow, and devoid of life.
Darkness encircling the tunnel,
a soft light at the end,
beconing, gently urging me foward.
My head level, shoulders straight,
I walk with a hint of stiffness,
nothing reflecting in my eyes.
I can hear the 2 guides behind me,
pressing me foward,
refusing to give me time to think.
When I reach the end of the tunnel,
I enter a room,
square, white, with only a chair to adorn it.
My guides unclasp my hands,
quickly withdrawing themselves from my touch,
my cold lifeless touch.
I feel nothing as I sit down,
allowing myself to be comfortably strapped down.
A man full of contrasts materializes before me.
Light smile, hiding his disturbance,
the shake in his hands betraying himself,
the man, white against black,
so dark was his skin color.
Suddenly, just to shake him,
I smile at him.
I smile warmly at him.
Quickly, he turns, his work done,
hurriedly shuffling out the room.
The time has approached,
my song, a single note from the end.
To my right, a man dressed in black,
but brighter than any else known to me,
he stretches forth to me,
my savior. . .or so he assumes.
To my left, a man dressed in black,
darker than any else known to me,
he stretches forth venom to me,
my obliterator. . .or so he assumes.
To Be Blessed
I am blessed.
People say I am wise beyond my years,
so young yet so old.
My knowledge of things,
as abundant as any my age,
but my understanding,
increased tenfold in many places.
I am isolated from my kind,
ostracized because of misunderstanding.
My thinking is different,
more thorough, less erratic.
I have few friends, for few understand me.
And for several, who say it is I they love,
I know not what to say,
when I sense the hint of hollowness,
spoken in their words.
Damned am I, to a life of misconception.
I am cursed.
Ravenloft
This is my world.
Darkness stifling all,
the touch of ghouls slice through the air,
a relentless horde striking down upon me,
pulling life from whatever they touch.
Lone trees, bare, clinging to life,
their stubborness an action in vain,
drowned in the torrent flood.
Suddenly a crack of energy,
dispersed across the sky,
its source bleed from others.
Caging me from the sky,
countless legions of children,
born of the dark,
intertwined amongst each other,
taunting, cackling,
as their reign of terror stretches forth,
now to eternity.
This is my world.
Predator or Prey
Walking through the deserted streets, I see a flash of movement,
my mechanical body responds to my thoughts,
man-made machine, machine made man,
and as I turn, my hard outer shell softens,
weapons of war morphing into feathers,
hard steel changing to flesh,
the cybernetics absorb into my body,
smoothed out and sleek,
the angular feet of my mechanoid legs transforms into razor sharp talons.
I launch myself into the air, wings flapping,
beak slicing through the wind,
and with the keenness of my eyes I spot something far into the forest,
and I dive towards it, wings melting away into nothing,
my feathers transform into hard glossy scales,
and my feet retract, not to be seen.
I land within the undergrowth hissing in pain,
my eyes, so sensitive to heat, discover a mouse not yet hidden,
and as I coil to strike, the feet of a hawk snatches me up.
The razor-like beak slices through my body,
my life blood spattering across the forest,
and I shriek, a cry of victory for a successful hunt,
feet wrapped around the dangling corpse of a once lethal snake,
then I hear the roar of fire engulfing me.
Burning my feathers, cooking my flesh,
and I snicker as I watch the fried corpse fall to the streets,
turning to check on some incoming objects that my sensors have picked up.
I turn too late, as three missiles collide, puncturing through my metallic flesh,
exploding from within me.
A Big IF
I ask myself,
what if? Could there
be another realm
out there?
Another reality awaiting
discovery? If there is,
would another
version of me be
there? If there isn't,
am I special? What if the
world was populated
by people like me?
Would there be
questions like, if a
tree fell in a forest,
and no one was there
to hear it, would it
make a sound? If
I had jumped out of an
airplane every Thursday
for the past 3 years, would
I have made this poem?
Freedom by Flight
To be free! Released from all the troubles of the world!
To feel the wind blowing in my face, whistling past my ears,
carried aloft, swept away along the aerial ocean, unfurled,
body piercing the sky, plains and canyons below me.
Minuscule trees waving their greetings to me when I pass by,
Everything for miles around I can see,
plants, animals, young hatchlings of humans playing on a hillside.
My eyes reflect theirs, for we are both at play.
I dance in the wind, making graceful turns and elegant patterns,
the hatchlings frolic on the ground, relishing their life,
but oh what ecstasy they would experience if they could waltz among the clouds,
a feather shy from the sun, a hair short of reaching the moon.
A Change of Heart
I know not what to write to my dear love,
for words can never express how I feel,
to one who's appearance is like a dove,
as the world shimmers around her, surreal.
Will I ever write anything to her?
and must I sit around pondering this?
I might as well go on as I were,
for through her I can't gain eternal bliss.
I'd prefer a girl with slightly more brains,
one with a wit to match her appearance,
an athletic who can run well in lanes,
From this type if girl, I hold no clearance.
My now past love, you stink like old poo,
I search now for a girl better than you.
Weaver of Music
The lights are dim, a spotlight on one man,
a bluesman, performing to an audience,
each mood a hue on a string,
threaded together to make a whole tapestry.
The guitar is the man's shuttle,
taking each note, and binding them together.
The man in his silk scarf, worn guitar in hand,
weaving many different licks together,
some bold, short, and simple,
others multicolored, complex and inventive.
His skillful fingers flash across the fret board,
drawing upon many different threads of music,
binding them together, to get one piece of art.
A single tapestry, woven with many threads,
blending with each other, for all to enjoy.
Is This Really Necessary?
A small pebble splashes into a quiet pond,
disturbing its solitude,
making ripples across the water's surface.
Observing what I have done,
I ponder, could that be me?
Am I so influential in this world as to do such as that pebble?
Am I, a mere boy who has only experienced the passing of 16 winters,
so special as to affect the people around me,
and in turn, affect others around them?
Am I charismatic enough to lead people to change?
Am I so much of an athlete as to be a champion of all?
Am I creative enough to make works of art,
or am I just humoring myself in asking all this?
Maybe, maybe not.
I am simply who I must be,
and that is all I know.
A Place Between Slumber and Crankiness
A rumbling occurs, waking me from my sleep,
stupid train.
"My thoughts exactly." I hear.
I turn my head and blink once,
then blink again.
Sitting at my bed is a tiny man,
no, a dwarf, adorned with beads and face paint.
Touching my forehead he says, "Sleep."
At that instant, my head falls,
it falls for an eternity and hits a pile of hay.
A pile of hay?
I sit up and find myself at the bottom of a lake.
As a fish lazily swims by I swat at it, a frown upon my face.
Standing up, I discover my head above the clouds.
Glancing down, I can still see my body, in the lake,
and then a bird lazily flies past me,
and with my dismembered head, I knock it,
careening off to the side.
All of a sudden, a high pitched screech cuts into my ears,
stupid garbage truck.
Orphaned
The soft sobs of one small voice floats on the wind,
drifting through the empty meadow, heard by none.
Under the bleak, pale sky, a single willow tree stands,
branches swaying like a black veil, hanging limp in the wind.
Underneath, 2 mounds of dry lifeless dirt lie.
Between, a small girl cries, alone, comforted by only the dead.
Words to my Love
Oh what a joy it is for me, to experience that which is your love.
It's sweet embrace warms me, covers me like a soft familiar blanket.
How I long to experience it always, to know it forever.
My love, how I wish I could fully return it in kind,
but my attempts would seem shallow and half-hearted
when compared to what you have shown me.
All I can do is try all I can to give to you all my love
and whatever else I am in possession of.
But if my attempts were increased thricefold,
they would fall short of your actions.
Even so, I shall try, never holding back, with no regrets.
This I give to you, to once more be touched by your love.
This I give to you, because of my love.
Unconditionally, and eternally, this all is what I give.
Will I Rest
As I lie in bed, darkness surrounding me,
I ask myself if I really want to go to sleep.
I don't know the answer to that,
for when I sleep one of 2 things will occur.
If I drift off,
my worries and my pain might drift away from me.
Or maybe, the abundance of pain that I have devours me,
creating horrific nightmares that haunt me at all hours after.
I don't know if I want to sleep,
the possibility of the nightmares visiting unnerves me.
With this thought, I let slip the knife out of my hand onto the floor,
and I lay there in my bed,
shiver and waiting for whatever kind of sleep will overtake me.
Untitled
The governess of humanity is none other than emotion.
Joy, sorrow, desire, disgust, hope, dispair,
All have led those who have themselves chosen to lead.
But why must it lead others to a less grand position in history?
Why must it destory, corrupt, and eliminate many left in it's wake,
consuming those who have given themselves to the pettiness that is greed?
But then I ask you, what of all this?
What would have occurred if we were devoid of emotion?
No crime, no pain, no man would harm another, forcing him to bleed.
But without out governess housing us, there would be no leadership,
there would be none to love, a most precious gem lost.
No inspiration, lost creations that grew from and sow many a seed.
Silence would flourish, for music sprang forth from emotion.
Generosity would cry upon deaf ears, rallying none to help the weak.
No desire, no fire for life, without all this, living becomes a broken deed.
As the Rain Gently Falls
The quiet droning of the rain encompasses all that I hear,
I feel the soft caress of the accompanying wind on my skin,
and my thoughts drift peacefully, fluttering in the wind.
As I close my eyes and listen to the unassuming pitter patter of the rain,
I stand in one place, for all of eternity, adrift in a single moment,
nothing penetrating my thought, everything in sync,
every image, every thought, every feeling,
every fiber of my being in perfect alignment with each other.
I take a deep lung-full of the rich spring air and I open my eyes.
The vision before me is one of unimposing tranquillity.
Every shade of green imaginable soothingly displayed before me.
A smile quietly tugs on the corners of my mouth as I look about.
Smoothly taking out my dry and neatly folded umbrella,
I finally give in, letting the underlying smile surface.
With briskness and lightness to my step,
I walk home, wet, beneath the rain, with my umbrella in hand.
Alone
Silence. . .the black void envelopes me, smothering all my thoughts.
It surrounds me at all angles, inpenitrable, thicker than steel.
Distantly, a voice drifts from the nothingness around me, calling for me.
Loving and tender is this voice,
caressing me, happiness being all that I feel.
I spend hours listening to this single, quiet voice,
the only solace from the my dark prison.
Reaching for it, I discover longing and hope, both strangers to me.
The voice so close, I know this, from the center of my being, from within.
Straining, streaching, my arm extends,
longing to grasp the very thing owning this sweet voice.
I push into the void, almost breaking through it. . .and then,
Very quietly, very slowly, the voice fades away,
departing from my ears, whispering its farewells by choice.
I pause, listening, hoping for it's return,
but I hear only the rasping of my breath.
Sighing, I retract my hand, not bothering to see what is beyond.
Now, I drift on, huddled in this black void,
waiting for the passing of one thing. . .death.
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Poems Copyrighted © 1996 & 1997 Leon Ko