the summer days (are over)

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Been working on this one for a while.
It’s kind of a sequel / rewrite of an older post I made long ago:

it was summer where i lived.

sometimes, the heat got unbearable,
and i’d lament the departed spring breeze.
still, i was glad to have found you, summer;
to have found comfort in warmth so tangible.

from sleep i’d wake to your jolting tidings.
often mischievous, but always hearty;
you were a radiant light of life.
i’d wake with a spring in my step.
for a season in the sun, i had wings.

you always found ways to make my forlorn heart sing.

but seasons come and seasons go;
summer came and summer went.

i bathed myself in the shivering cold.
there were no tears on my face; only snow.
the familiar whispers of the winter winds
caressed me with a different kind of comfort;
the kind i was used to.

summer comes and summer goes;
‘are you real or are you a ghost?’

i wondered and wondered for days on end,
picking at a wound which i knew would not mend.

summer had always existed only in my heart;
and i only built a snowman as i dreamt.

but even then,
summer was a season where i grew,
a season where i learnt;
a happy season of my life.

in my youth i dreamt of you as wife,
today i resolve to cut you from my life.
there’s still a faint summer’s warmth where i live,
but this time, i think i’m ready to leave.

so i thank you,
for the time we talked on the roof,
and for being the summer of my youth.





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i’ve been hit by a hurricane.
my only memories were that of pain
and the slightest, faintest taste of rain.

i’ve been thrown up into the sky.
the only thought on my mind was ‘why?’
i was a bird that forgot to fly.

i’ve been swept away by the gale.
my lungs fail! a voiceless wail!
a silent cadence to end this tale.

i’ve been standing in the eye of the storm.
obliviously, i basked in the calm.
yet as it all ends, i stand unusually calm.
for few have seen the beauty of a storm.

i’ve been hit by a hurricane.
my last memories were not that of pain
but the slightly pleasant taste of rain.

contra mundum

doves are in yonder flight; ante bellum,
the good often die young; we keep vigil.

life can never escape death; memento mori.
even the highest peaks despair; the skies higher still.

the world is not ours to inherit; dust off our feet.
there is nothing to be mourned, fait accompli.

but even as the river flows, unstoppable,
we walk against the clock, contra mundum.

Conceived because I was fascinated by some Latin / French words.

Christians may notice some gospel-inspired lines. Hehe.

ante bellum = before the war
memento mori = remember everyone dies
fait accompli = what has been done cannot be changed
contra mundum = against the world

the sinner laments

in meekness, his soul desired;
in weakness, his flesh retired.
yet so easily, he set his soul on fire,
again succumbing to his fleshly desire,
bogging himself in this swampy mire.

despite the cognizance,
of the need for repentance,
he led a life of reluctance;
one which reeked of repugnance,
one in need of penitence.

‘ye almighty!’
he cried out in melancholy.
‘has this pitiful life sated your ennui?
a vile slave that’s chained to iniquity?’

this enmity,
was just another daft futility.
he came to terms with reality.


nothingness breathed into life; created.
to be our own gods; we rebelled.
from dust to dust; we were condemned.
an outpouring of grace; we were saved.

at the end of the pilgrimage of sanctification
lay the casket that ended all persecution
yet this resting place will not be my last;
and this beatific smile will merely be my first.

brought back to life;
we were arraigned.
acquitted of vice;
we were justified.

just another

what am i doing with my life?
whispering to myself all these lies,
justifying all my withheld tithes.
see not this pandemic that runs rife?
just another confused youth

time after time, ‘i don’t have time’.
forced into a rush, all i do is whine.
rebuffing concerns, i declare ‘i’m fine’.
i had no right, the fault was mine.
just another incorrigible sloth.

dancing through calamity in pure bliss,
completely oblivious to the serpent’s hiss.
perhaps it’s time i come to confess:
wholly foolish; and wholly careless.
just another play-pretend sleuth.

yet logic reasons to me,
and the path is plain to see.
giddily, i shudder with mirth;
this pained comedy of the mind’s labyrinth,
its vain portrayal of a polymath.

maybe just maybe.
i’m just another sociopath.