Musings on Memories

Memories play a
      confusing role:
You laugh at all the
      tears you recall;
And all those moments when
      you once laughed
Now breaks your heart and
     leaves you sad.
It's hard to love in
     a world of spite.
Sometimes you fail--
     try as you might.
So live each day with
     love and laughter
Because life is one hell of
    a beautiful disaster.

 -Nocturnal Scribe

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None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2011

Musings on Longing

It's been four years--
four years,
four years...
And you'd think that by now,
I'd have gotten over it.

Well,
it seems like I haven't.
I mean,
I don't always think about it,
but whenever December comes
waltzing
around the corner,
that familiar sense of longing,
that ebbing pain
resurfaces.
And I spend December
in regret
thinking
of bitter
"what ifs".

What if ... I hadn't let him out of my sight?
What if ... he hadn't left me?
What if ... I had done this or that instead?
What if ... things had been done differently?

We'd still be
together,
that's what.
But
it's useless to try to
turn back time in my mind
because what's done
is done.

All I can do now
is hope and pray
that he'll come back...
that I can find him...

Because
believe me,
I've looked.
For four years
I've looked.
And sometimes,
I wonder
if he ever
looks back.

Looks back to that day
at Colon, near Jollibee, Leon Kilat;
or
looks back to that day
at the plaza under the Tambis tree;
or
looks back to that day
at the lake in the woods.

Because I do.

I look back...
and I
remember.

I remember
the intense gaze of his gray eyes.
I remember
his quick grin.
I remember
the way his hair would fall back against his forehead
after he'd brush it away with his fingers.
I remember
how protective
and kind
and generous
he was and
how good he was with kids.
I remember
his charismatic and adventurous spirit.
I remember
that day at the basketball court when
he was so brave when
Carlo threatened him.
I remember
how much he loved
spaghetti.

But...that's all there is
left of him.
Memories.
It's December again.
And I find myself singing
this song:

"So I go back to December,
turn around and make it alright;
I go back to December
all the time."


Come back,
Raphael.
I miss you.

-Nocturnal Scribe

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None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2011

Musings on Hope

Aurora claws her way
resolutely at the
denseness and gloom
of nightfall,
bringing with her
a plight that--come
morrow--the sun
would shine down
on those who
take heart.

-Nocturnal Scribe

This blog is protected by the Philippine Copyright Law, Republic Act 8293.

None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2011

Musings on Remorse

Rain came down like long knitting needles,
The weather matched his mood.
He gazed unseeingly at the fields,
Alone and drenched he stood.

Rain slowed down to gentle pats,
And birds began to sing;
As the soft breeze whistled past,
His thoughts drifted off to things.

Now the sun shines brightly on him,
As if she were shining for him alone.
So he tucks away all his hopes and dreams,
And together, they go home.

-Nocturnal Scribe

This blog is protected by the Philippine Copyright Law, Republic Act 8293.

None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2011

Musings on Impudence

The pungent musk of regal air
envelops her petite poised frame.


Rolling off her proud tongue are
words of feigned affection,
words of beguiling sympathy,
words that entice ire.


Haughtiness encompass
the windows to her soul,
and she thinks herself without flaw--
above us all mere mortals.
Her gaze slices through condescendingly,
a gorgeous smile painted on scarlet petals.


Hypocrisy is her shadow
and mischief marks
each stilletoed footstep
that trail leisurely behind her.


Such is the nature
of the midnight rose.


Yet, still, she receives
constant praise
from the blind,
from those who choose to be blind,
from the deaf,
from those who choose to be deaf.


They cling on precariously
to the fringes of the
obsidian, velvet cloak
draped loosely around
her petite poised frame,
as if their very lives depended
on her subtle cruelty.

-Nocturnal Scribe

This blog is protected by the Philippine Copyright Law, Republic Act 8293.

None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2011

Musings on Desolation

Crimson.
Lustrous.
Plump.

Swaying in the breeze
that rustles the leaves,
it hangs among those
that are

not that crimson,
not quite lustrous, and
not very plump.

The air is sweet
with the scent of ripeness.
Brown-breasted fowls perch
among the branches
with them.

Wisps of white

stream across the sky's ocean
and gradually obscure
the bright disco ball.
Cold whistles past again,
knocking one

not that crimson,
not quite lustrous, and
not very plump

against the
crimson, lustrous, and plump.

Gravity beckons it.
Newton's thoughts are now far away.

With a thunk,
the crimson, lustrous, and plump
lands on thinning
chartreuse hair
scattered along a
soft, auburn scalp.

Brown-breasted fowls
do not pause their
merry little tune
for this;
they continue to perch
on the branches
with the rest that
remain suspended.

Alone, it sits--
wishing to return to where
the others are.

-Nocturnal Scribe

This blog is protected by the Philippine Copyright Law, Republic Act 8293.

None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2011

Musings on Longevity

Daybreak--
radiant with promises
a new day holds,
it crawls its way
at a steady pace
into frigid and frenzied
afternoon storms
that suddenly turn
humid and idle;
then again,
Aquilo violently shudders past
before pacifying himself once more.
And like a tiny drop
of rich, dark ink
invading a crystal cup
of calm water,
nightfall quickly claims
the sun.

-Nocturnal Scribe

This blog is protected by the Philippine Copyright Law, Republic Act 8293.

None of the posts in this blog may be reproduced or copied—either completely or partially—in any forms or by any means without permission in writing to the Author.

© Nocturnal Scribe, 2011