Holding on to the line of the balloon always seemed easy until distractions happen and we let go of it unknowingly.
Is it meant to be attached by the wrist or do we allow it freedom to drift off to the city of lights?
Ode.
Life’s greatest works deliver
Meanings temporal and eternal.
On the facade,
We carve our paths.
On the polish wheel,
We refine our skills.
Set out with an intention,
Imperfect and learning;
Yet upon completion,
Profound and stunning.
The same is to be said
Of our life endeavours.
Purposefully wander,
For every step is a wonder.
Time shalt pass,
Old age will come.
Like the Grecian urn
With truth between its arms.
Silent and passionate,
For it does not speak.
Classical and timeless,
For it holds true meaning of beauty.
Certainly.
Life is running into a whole bunch of uncertainties, one after another, and forcing ourselves to decide what we’re going to do about each of them. We stop growing once we decide not to face that uncertainty – or not deciding – ever again.
Vulnerability.
Stashed away,
Like an old toy in the attic —
A forgotten classic;
An all-time favourite.
We learnt life without it,
When reality got in the way.
It’s time for a shift!
They got into the attic,
Found this dusty toy,
Unrecognisable from it once was —
An embarrassing reality,
Yet remains precious in memory.
Cake.
Candles lighted,
Before us a creamy buttery slice.
In the sepia and dim,
Light was brightest in your eyes.
In all snow and white,
You brought flaring summer.
Two heart popsicles,
Melting into sweet pink mush.
New Year.
Momentous —
An exchange of oranges and reds
Between manes of black, white and grey;
Happiness —
An exchange of blues and yellows
through greens, pinks and violets.
Orchestra.
As if diving into the sea
While a fighter jet flew by with uncertainties.
As if the conductor raised his hand
And the orchestra of worries halted.
He seemed to be her sense of peace,
Calming to the point she could hear her heart racing —
Unsure if it’s from the anxious thoughts.
Or the sheer presence of him.
Gardens.
Amidst scents of flowers,
He was greenery.
Sunday afternoons
Love was the best scenery.
Masterpiece.
Love is like art.
Uncertain strokes,
Building up confidence into a masterpiece.
Like photography,
Forever immortalised in that moment.
Like a concocted scent,
Familiar and fleeting, leaves you craving.
Like aged wine,
Best kept in the memory cellar —
To be appreciated,
And savoured in the present.
To create beauty lasting of all time,
How many false starts do we take?
Slow, peaceful art —
Are we running out of time?
Vulnerability.
If tenderness is an ache,
from exercising vulnerability.
Then gratefulness is the relief,
for training the bravest hearts.
killgwen 