My Shadow

I love my shadow, I like how it is a better manifestation of me, taller and grander without giving away my disfigurement. I like how it is there to remind me that I exist physically and metaphysically, even when I feel invisible, as it is the product of me being corporeal enough to obstruct the paths of light. My shadow can do no wrong, it can accomplish no malice, for it lacks all the internal conflicts of its owner. It merely exist, a constant companion, a quiet follower and leader in the midst of my daily chores. I am never alone, for it dances with me, a puppet on the wall. My shadow is my friend, it passes no judgement but offers a sympathetic presence. Indeed, my shadow is my friend, and long do I dread the day I cast it no more.

Piano

Last night I felt it once more, beneath the full moon and the starry skies. I felt it tugging gently at my heart, probing my inner soul until I can no longer ignore it as I usually do. It called out to me, resonating like a clarion bell across a willowy meadow. Haunting, whispery, but nonetheless building momentum, it gathers itself for an assualt against my vulnerable self. Emotions that were previously tucked away and inerted, seems to gravitate towards it. Awaiting for that one moment when the dam may break. Normally, when I feel it coming, I would snuck away into the night and find her - the stern lady dressed in black with the skin of white ivories. She was always there, neither smiling nor frowning, just patiently waiting. She expects nothing, nor does she demands anything. Never judging, she would sit and listen, allowing me to lead the conversation whichever way I pleased. No one else has come to know me as she did, anticipating my whims with such clairvoyance. No one understands me as she did, for no one else has peered into the depth of my soul as she did. How perfectly she responds, drawing upon my emotions she can be passionate like the thunders rolling, or she could be quiet and timid like rain drops slowly falling. Indeed, when I feel afflicted with the overwhelming yearning for a companion, I would go to her and pour out my soul  to my heart' s content.  She was my confidente, my one true soul mate... and now she lies far away. Who can I turn to, who can withstand the turbulant storm of my being and make music with me? Who else possess the same sensitivity to my touch, easily reverberating and amplifying my every whim. Alas, I am out on my own. Vulnerable beneath the lovely skies, feeling the true burden of being lonely as can be, without an outlet for my romantic notions. 

Ode to Her

Cara signora bella,

I praise God that you were born a lady, and I a man, that I may adore you from afar, and worship the grounds on which you float by.

You are the sunshine that brightens a darken day, the moon that brings assurance to lost travellers at night. You are the stars which veils the earth with a nostalgic haze.

You smell of spring flowers, and radiate with summer's passion. Your remind me of autumn breeze's sweet caress; your presence ever so refreshing and magical as winter's first snow. 

I adore you, I worship you. No fine wine can intoxicate me as you have. You are not merely beautiful, but an inebriation in motion. Look not towards me for I fear I may drown in the ocean of your eyes. Smile not that bewitching smile at me less my soul be lost, my heart cast asunder from my body. 

Indeed, I dare only to love you from afar, I admire you with reverence liken that of a sacred religion. 

You are my muse, my inspiration. I may be eloquent, but only because you per chance exist to be the melody. You are the embodiment of ideals, an actualization of quizotic dreams. You are a lady, and I thank God I am a man.

Mid-Autumn 2006

I like the full moon, I like how it veils everything with a silky glow, creating an ambient haze. Often times, I find it to be simply bewtiching to stand there beneath the clear skies and gaze unto her face. How fickle she seems, often disappearing for periods of time, but she always come back with that mystical smile of hers, showering the serene earth with her magical presence. On nights when the moon is whole, I feel as if I am the lone wolf given the chance to connect with the pack again. For when the moon is high and full, the wolves would arch their heads and howl, communicating with each other despite the distance. Similarily, I would look up to her, and be contented in knowing that somewhere out there, across the vastness that parts us, those whom I hold fondly are looking at the same moon. We are thus re-united in that giant mirror in the sky, our thougths reflected and relayed to each other's soul. At least, that is my hope. The seas and the mountains may be in the way, but as long as the moon becomes whole, so shall the company that were once dispersed meet in the medium of the sentimental heart. 

That being said, the full moon does not just signify the reaffirmation of an old alliance, but the confirmation of new allegiances as well. the new moon should be a symbol of the meeting of both the old and the new acquaintances until the circle is complete. Alas, that is my ideal notion. No matter how alone I may feel, the moon is a steadfast reminder that we are all completed somehow by others who entered our lives. That while these individual may not be always present, they are an integral part of us, that we are always whole as long as we remember them.

So on this night, I propose a toast to all my friends out there, to my family, and to those whom I have just met. May you always be blessed with good health, and good humor, and may you remember that each of you complete me as a whole.