Delayed Merry Christmas (It’s Amazing How The Simplest of Stories Can Make One Cry)

So yesterday, I was at a hotel for Christmas day, and surprising to say, I couldn’t get away with my way, because internet service in the room means that you have to pay. 100 Pesos an hour is really too much, so I was not able to post this soon enough, but nevertheless, here I am now, ready to share something new to the crowd.

 

So for all you people out there who had spent their Christmas-es alone, then that’s cool. At least the Internet always has some posts for you guys. 🙂 Here’s the post:

 

It’s Amazing How The Simplest of Stories Can Make One Cry

 

The more complex on the other hand makes one think.

The comical drive the point of the need to laugh.

The more horrific drive the point of the need to fear.

The romantic drive the point of the need to love.

The action and movement filled ones drive at the need to live to the fullest.

The musical drive the point of expression through the sounds that affect us ergo the importance of our ears.

The silent ones drive the point of expression through visuals and how important our eyes really are.

Though with all of this, it’s the simple ones that drive the point of life itself. It’s the simple ones that make us cry. Why? Maybe because we relate to them. Maybe because they’re easier to comprehend. Maybe because they’ve happened to us. Maybe because they can influence more. Maybe because the lessons learned are really useful. Maybe because we follow by example. Maybe because of all of these combined.

 

Or maybe.

Just maybe.

You’d like to,

Live out what actually transpired.

 

You’d like to live it, so you can tell your version.

You’d like to live it, so you can experience the fullness of life.

You’d like to live it, because you’ve been starved of it.

You’d like to live it, since it happens to others.

You’d like to live it, knowing what to expect or what not to.

 

But for me, I like the simple ones because they make me tremble,

they make me question,

they make me wonder,

they make me realize,

they make me analyze,

they make me worry,

they make me relieved,

they make me stay awake,

they make me sleep,

but most of all,

I like the simple ones,

Because they inspire.

 

Because,

 

To know the simple will give you all that you’ll ever need to make the complex.

 

(c) Anachronic Works 2011

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We Have Time (A Poem)

I’m wondering how the world would be without the essence of existence.

What words are there to explain this resistance to persistence?

The persistent push of mother nature, and yet we keep our distance.

Our lives are futile without each other’s assistance. In this stance,

We try to survive in this world of hatred and we still dance.

We still dance to the rhythm of the music of sleep,

We still dance to the sounds of our demise that creeps,

So deep. So deep.

Intrepid in our futile push to survive, so deep.

I’m apologetic to you, and you’re irritated with me.

I’m in sorrow, with all the chaos in our sea,

Puberty.

Insanity brings me comfort, bringing me back to reality.

The intensity, of this system of inconsistency,

Is as fucked up as the discomfort of plasticity.

A poem for your sake has brought me to my low grades of D,

G, the chord I play with the C to hopefully let you see,

E, and I hope that this basic tune will let me be,

That I love this music, and I love your music…

And I’m tired of this world, and I hope you’re not as tired.

I want to forget to remember to remember to forget,

It’s been said.

If we have time to love ourselves, we have time to love others.

We have time to dance, we have time to sleep, we have time to cry, we have time to fake it.

Time however, is of the essence and I can’t conceive shit.

I can only wish for the sake of this, that we make the most of our time in this,

This world.

And the most of my time will be well spent on you.

(c) Anachronic Works 2011

Don’t Hurt Her Bro, She Loves You

Imagine her, the girl of your dreams, your future bride, your Virgil to your Dante, your Anabel to your Poe.
She’d just left you after seeing you for 2 and a half months, saying she didn’t want a relationship.
She didn’t even mention that she wanted to be friends.
She merely said it, “We can still be best friends.” without so much as a hint of sincerity.
You loved her, so you believe her, in the slight hope that friendship may once again bring back the relationship.
Bring back the love.
Bring back the days you’d spent laughing with her.
The ineffable kisses you both shared.
The misanthropy you provided for yourself in exchange for her attention.
It was all you required.
She was your self knitted hat.
She was your gasoline and drive.
She was the guitar you learned to play until you had calloused fingers.
So you let it be.
A few weeks later, you do not speak.
A few months later, you see her and smile, but she loses all trace of you in the back of her mind.
There’s another man, who now catches her eye.
A new flavor of wine that she’d love to try.
A new drug to help ease the sickness of life.
A new path on the map of life.
He is there, holding her hand.
He is there, playing as she cheers from the bleachers.
He is there, reading her to sleep.
It was the novel you wrote for her, it was hers to keep.
All trace of you has been erased.
A formatted hard drive, and it’s an emotionless face.
Then you see her again, and this time she cries.
You talk to her, and comfort her this time.
You walk and talk for a stretch of miles; visiting the past, remembering the smiles.
She feels better, and gives you a hug.
That’s all you’re gonna get, so you leave with a shrug.
You see them together, again, as if they’d never fought.
All the pain dashed away, as if it were a passing thought.
And again, you see her in the middle of the night.
Tears in her eyes, as she struggles to fight.
There he is, walking away, and she’s kneeling on the sidewalk, meters away.
He needs help, and so does she.
So you approach the guy, and you’ll help them see.
You sum up the courage to talk him through.
With a single line, you know what you have to do.
You love her too much to let it go too.
“Don’t hurt her, bro. She loves you.”

* This was written for the Facebook Page “Don’t Hurt Her Bro, She Loves You.”

** Why I wrote this for a Facebook Page was because I was BORED. BORED. So I decided to pour out a little bit of my heart into the page.

*** Here’s the link: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Dont-hurt-her-bro-She-loves-you/155903644455335

**** You can find this post on the Discussion Board. As of the time I post this, nobody has deigned to reply to me yet.

(c) Anachronic Works 2011