Блог
Всі
Особисте
If there’s only a translator, I can talk to you all. Sadly, there’s none. I can’t understand your language :(
1
44
Книги
Всі
Вірші
Всі
(Not a Poem)
Wear the crown. No tripping, no slipping, no falling down. Heads up, dry your tears because you’re unique and indestructible like diamonds, forever like gold.
—Spero, 2019
©Illustration by Heo Jiseon
3
0
530
#1 (Not a Poem)
As we go through this life, we’re now beginning to realize that our existence has never been a mere coincidence and that us—being placed in this world has been preordained. Our experiences make up the pages for the book we call ‘Life’ and each page, we formed offers new and valuable lessons not only for oneself but also for everyone around us.
Our life is meant to be shared with others so that they may see the world from our own experiences. We want others to rejoice with us in our victories and triumphs. We want them to learn from our failures and shortcomings. We want them to see the beautiful plan that God has laid out. By opening our life to others, we lay ourselves naked before the world unshamed of our flaws and iniquities. Our heart are screaming in joyous palpitation awaiting for the colorful things God has set to us.
Look at them.
Learn from everyone.
And in turn, we want someone to learn from us. We want to read from their colorful pages. We want to learn from their book of life. We heartily accept that while we draw breath, we are both teachers and students striving to grow together. We are all leaves connected to a single tree, sustained by the water of knowledge and brought forth the fruit of wisdom.
Don’t mock someone as he have seen the world differently from us. The lashes we had feel and the pains we experienced are unique to oneselves. Our life may mirrors others or it may not but one thing we should always remember is that sensitivity is the heart of man. Our appearances may differ but our hearts beat the same tune.
—Spero, 2019
©Illustration by Heo Jiseon
4
0
530
Gone
Every day has always been the same
Waking up at three–thinking
of the things I regret not doing.
Filling the room with noisy thoughts
that keep me awake ’til sunrise.
Staring at a blank canvas, 8 o’clock in the morning–
Grieving and unable to do anything.
Eating only bread and words left unsaid,
Hoping to puke out the sorrow and sadness.
Going out and walking after lunch,
Sun beaming on my skin, burning.
Wanting to run away and leave all behind
My habds and feet are bound by memories kept.
Resting too late at night, couldn’t sleep
Keeping all the lights on, afraid–
Of ghost that may appear at the dark
Memories of you, haunting me to sleep.
Every day has always been the same since you were gone.
—Spero, 2019
4
0
579
