She sat across the table from me. Her piercing eyes just coyly analyzing my movement. Believe me, I was nervous. She could do anything she wanted with me; after all, this was her domain. I put my guard up. I didn’t want her to see that I was afraid. I didn’t want her to win.

I examined her. Two beautiful eyes staring me down, a steep nose well-aligned and proportionate to her face, and lush pink lips coupled with her elegant smile. Long black hair framed her face. This girl was beautiful and very intimidating.

I didn’t know what to do. I tried to project a smug look because, maybe, it would catch her off guard. But no, she just kept on glaring at me. I attempted to perplex her with a quizzical look, but she was too smart to fall for it. An omniscient gleam showed in her eyes. I just gave her an opportunity to attack.

She unsheathed her teeth from her lips and smiled at me; the kind of smile that made me fall for her over and over again. Then she batted her eyes at me, coaxing me to forfeit.

I laughed, and that ended the game.

Photo By: xMicolx

Just a little introduction. Today (08-09-12), I had an intriguing conversation with friends about expectations. Expectations lead people to believe that no matter what the circumstance something would happen, or that one would be able to do something. The underlying modal verb of expectation is WOULD.It got me thinking, and it got me inspired to write another poem. So here it is:

-

One must learn to walk the road

as readily as should;

but never to expect that

left sees that right’s a would.

-

If one walks the road and is

expectant as can be,

then his disappointment lies

in woulds and wouldn’t see

-

That true happiness in is

walking along the road

of coulds and shoulds, but not woulds;

coz would’s a heavy load.

-

It’s been seventy-two and a half hours,

And the sun hasn’t come out.

The people all around are perplexed.

“Why’s there darkness all around?”

Another asks if anything was wrong;

While some plead to the elders

To inform them of what happened and

To give the poor some shelter.

For the land was too cold, dark and broken.

No warmth had entered the earth.

No energy, no, not even light

From the stars that gave them birth.

No happiness, laughter, excitement too.

No one’s dancing. No music.

Nothing that gave them joy had existed,

Just Apollo’s dead lyric.

Some knelt over and gave solemn prayers

To the gods who forsake them.

Others rallied for they new that this

Was the Sun God’s requiem.

The remaining citizens did nothing

For they knew not what to do.

Part of them didn’t believe in gods,

The other half simply knew

They had no authority and power

Over the vast universe.

They understood that they had no right

To create another verse.

It’s been seventy-two and a half hours,

And the sun didn’t come out.

I guess the sun did not realize

What its purpose is about.

Photo by: niji707

She didn’t talk. She didn’t even smile. All she did was write, and write, and write. Write about everything that happened: the events that brought her inside.

It was late in the evening or early in the morning, she couldn’t tell. It was dark, though, that’s for sure. She remembered hearing sirens outside of her house along with loud stomping, like that of thousands of men running with boots. There came a loud knocking at her door, and then, boom, it blew open. Five men dressed in suits stormed her room, grabbed her by the arms and legs, then dragged her out of the house. It all happened too fast; so fast that she couldn’t even resist. Then she blacked out.

She woke up laying in a dark hallway in front of a wooden door. She turned to find out that no one was there; not even the men that kidnapped her. There were no windows, just a dim blinking light bulb on the right side of the hall. Bewilderedness filled her mind; she couldn’t think straight. Where she was, who knows? Then she looked back at the door. She got up slowly and quietly put her hand on the knob, turned it and opened the door.

The room was dark.  She looked around for a light switch. Click, a faint light shown from the ceiling revealing the empty room. No windows, no further rooms, no furniture; just a pen. Then she started to write.

Photo by: DaleNorvell.

I wrote this on the third of July (07-03-12), hence the title.

Just felt really compelled to write during that rainy Tuesday evening. It is, by far, the longest one I’ve written. Please do read, like and reblog! Enjoy! :)

Third of July

The rain falls hard

crashing overhead.

Hear drizzling sounds;

lying on my bed.

A phone lights up.

From eyes, water bled.

Thinking of you

and what you just said

Third of July,

almost the next day.

Up and kicking.

So needless to say,

wide, I’m awake;

thoughts fading away.

Transitioning

to those yesterday.

You, this is for,

and you know it too.

Things left unsaid,

but feelings so true.

Heart turning red

from when it was blue.

In this cold, fire

is burning for you.

I want to speak

the words to your ear

inside a place

where only you hear.

Can’t find the strength

because of my fear.

I cannot speak.

Can’t even go near.

That’s why I write.

I write ‘til I bleed.

Pen and paper

is all that I need

to make you see

words mouthed in my deed,

and make you feel

my soul as you read.

In this game, love,

I am not so keen,

but I do say

the words that I mean.

I won’t hold back.

To God I will lean

for the guidance

to make you my queen.

These are some of the unedited pictures that I had taken sporting my new look: Simple, Clean, Laid-back. (Photos by Vincent Marius)

I usually wear grey, white or black tops since it gives a clean and simple look. Just know how to wear it and it will definitely stand out.

Grey buttoned-up polo shirt from H&M, and chino pants from a thrift store. Shoes: KEDS.

Proves that you don’t need to spend a lot to look good!

FOLLOW!