She Who Loves Death ✓COMPLETE

Malachi's Poetry

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Choosing Happiness

If life breaks in,
stealing the curve
in my lips,
I will choose not to chase.
I'll paint it back,
I will do it myself.
When life comes
in a tornado of struggles,
I will choose
to be still,
to have faith,
to reprobate all my fear.

If life is a river,
a plangent river of negativity,
I will choose
to keep paddling away,
far across, far away
Until from its curse, I'll be,
I will be free.
When life becomes
a knife,
when it cuts you or wounds you,
I will choose to be healed.
Yes, scarred but yes, healed,
Restored, mended.

If life becomes
a monster to humanity.
I will stay,
I will choose to be me;
to befriend enmity
because friends just can't stay.
They give you their promises
only to break each one,
all of them, in the end.
And yet,
choose to love.
Choose amity.
When life—
rains melancholy,
I will choose to find
a reason to live,
a reason to smile,
I'll choose to stay happy—
to be myself, to choose me.

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(To my Louissa...)

INAMORATA

Hers were gleaming, talking pair of eyes;
deeper than ocean, bluer than skies.
The dusky hair locks on her head
were curling golden silk
begrudged by the tangerine sunset.
Her beauty below the smiling moonlight
is far more sublime
than the lure of the silver night.
I espied to everything in the world
to compare the beauty that you hold
But even the nature was lost in awe
for there's nothing quite as
beautiful as you.

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FORLORN

If I am a painter,
I will paint your smile
so you'd see how
heartbreaking
it is to behold.

If I am a musician,
I'd translate your smile
into a song
so you'd hear
the sadness that dances there.

If I am a poet,
I'd write a poem about your smile
So you'd read my pain
or know that my heart bleeds
because of  your sadness.

But I am not any of those,
I am just no one but myself,
I am just a lover—
who waits for you,
to finally get over her.

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Through the Eyes of Love

I wish
I could let you borrow my eyes
so you'd see the beauty
that I am beaming at
the beauty you fail to behold
of the woman in your mirror.

If you look at her
through these adoring eyes of mine
you will know, you'd be warned
for the stars despise your charm,
the moon envies your radiance,
and the sun is mortified of your shine.

I don't know how
you will ever comprehend
to how beautiful you are to me
I don't think you will ever see
so I just transcribed your beauty
into this unsophisticated poetry.

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Garden

What is the language of longing
of a heart that cries and athirst
or where is the ray of melancholy
planted in the image
of a love that weeps?

In the yard of my mind
is where I plant our love
It's the shelter of your smile
Or behind the peeping moon
is where I hid my love for you

In my garden
is where we are free
we're free to dance,
free to feel your embrace
free to say what we truly feel
Here in the garden of my mind
we are free—free to love.