Old Flames (Empty Vase Part 2)

Holding a lighter over a candle,
A fire burned out before,
Wax already dripped down below,
The stains decorate the floor,
It once lit the whole house,
Touching the walls with its glow,
Yet you were always unimpressed,
Always wanting the fire to grow,
The wind puts your fire out,
You ignite the flame again,
On and off the flame goes,
You keep reigniting the flame and then
You realise, the candle wax is gone,
In its wake lies a burnt thread,
Finally the fire hungry must accept,
The flame is forever dead.

Empty Vase

Shattered glass on the floor,
Here lies the vase that you broke,
You tried sweeping it under the rug,
But I stepped on the fragments you don’t
Know how much it hurts,
My feet are bleeding from the sole,
The sharper the fragments,
The deeper the holes,
But why do we pick up the pieces,
Try to fix a simple ornament,
Couldn’t have been that precious
For your hands to easily send
It crashing to the ground,
But no matter what we try,
The lines of the cracks we made
Won’t allow us to deny
What this was,
An empty vase, the floor is dry.

Conversation Hesitation

I guess I can understand it now,

A sudden load of pressure,

Invisible string on my thumb,

Pulling it back further,

From the name that delighted me so,

Turning frowns to smiles like magic,

Our heartbeats changing rhythm together,

Now it’s just static…

Memories of the time spent,

Words exchanged from our lips,

Now all that’s left are a severed tongue

And frozen fingertips.

Define A Man

At what time do we change,
Give up our petty, childish ways,
Throw away the pretentious pride
That forces our deeper emotions to hide,
The way we behave, we can’t even choose,
Targeted and labelled for the things we do,
Given guidelines and directions for thinking and then
Being told we can’t call ourselves “men,”
Because men are tall, strong and brave,
And unlike women, allowed to misbehave,
Don’t have small hands, or a small waist,
But should have loads of hair on his face,
Confident and fearless, muscles abound,
Getting inside every girl around town,
Bringer of bread, taking food through the door,
Fall short of any of these, you’re not a man any more,
They want the perfect man, the constraints they made,
I don’t believe in perfect, but I’m a man anyway,
Because I think for myself, know my own worth,
Not measured by age, size, mass or girth,
My frequency of women, nor my wealth,
Because before anything else, I love myself.


My body broken down on this bed,
Sheets reflecting the force, colour of red,
Remembering the moment my innocence fled
The soft, fleshy body below my head.

But under the sky, above the ceiling,
I lay in my nest, a furnace, just feeling
The heat, the pressure of wanting and needing
A life far from reach of where my hands cling.

But while I stay here thinking of all this,
Reaching my goals, surpassing my limits,
Motionless, my body rests, motivation demolished,
Waiting for the blood of ambition to be replenished.


It really amazes me,
How I can be so lost in one task
My mind displaces me,
Then I have to ask,
What are the things I missed,
The things walked over,
Forgotten in the mist
Of responsibilities on my shoulders,
I had a goal,
And with strong hands and firm mind
I gazed in that direction alone,
Like stallions on the track, blind at the side,
But the leaves blow away from the trees now,
And I sail the winds as well,
Lacking attention to the crawlers on the ground,
I’m whisked away, in the air, a silent farewell.

Infinity Thinker

Morning breaks, the sun shines,
Onto my face, it wakes the lids of my eyes,
From few inches off the floor, I rise,
Eyelids heavy, arms heavy, hear heavy,
The sounds of footsteps and murmurs ready,
To boil my blood of resentment, ever steady,
As whispers shake the thin walls around me,
My own whispers only delivered back to me,
Rehearsing the day, I recall what must be done,
Business is in attendance, absent all fun,
Work the whole day, pushups or run?
Repeat the cycle again with the sun,
But I am only one,
Their significant others to share,
All of that tender loving care,
My hugs and embraces only come from the cold air,
Whispers only to my pillow, it cannot respond,
Spoils of labour, shared amongst myself,
Food for survival attain my own shelf,
Making a hut on land once claimed by beasts,
Who still litter the floor with their waste,
But my legs can manage the weight I carry,
Because any added weight is unnecessary,
But the whispers still linger,
Troublesome pest, to the infinity thinker.