| Thursday, February 23, 2012
The incessant knocking startles but soon fades into nothing.We fail to appreciate the "norm" for it will always be there, but that is when the cards of loss are dealt and the consequences, liked or not, are recieved.
It appears that a bad hand has been dealt. But there is still time, and only the all-knowing can tell whether or not the ending would be a happy one. Making the best of things, such a tiredly true cliche.
the purple piggy oinked 12:27 AM
| Thursday, November 10, 2011
some colours were meant to go together, others not.yet anything's fashion, contrasting, complementing.
one man's meat is another man's crap.
just because you prefer a certain combination doesn't mean others do.
forcing your views onto the world,
indeed is stainless steel really only made of those three metals, textbook?
not in syllabus so you refuse to tell us,
in the name of education you test us on facts supposedly "out of syllabus"
children want to know everything
not swallow the brief facts whole
too much too little
it hurts as it goes down
but it comes out so easily nothing stays
Are you sure this is the children you want to lead your country?
the purple piggy oinked 7:54 PM
| Tuesday, November 8, 2011
pride will never allow you to make that statement,for digging up the past is never nice,
even though it might help salvage your already shredded reputation,
but why should people care about you the lowest of the low,
when there the diamonds sparkle and the colours are garishly bright.
In a society where no one cares anymore about handmade gifts,
you should remember that it is no longer about the heart but about the exterior.
what sort of world will my child grow up in? what sort of world am I growing up in?
the child in the chest, dead or alive or are we all dead before we live?
pretty clouds. herald the coming of happiness. but I think we all know it is but false hope.
in a world of black and white, red blood staining the death certificates we so happily write write write again and again, it is time to realise that happiness is best left to idol dramas and MVs.
time, for the beating heart to shrivel.
the purple piggy oinked 7:49 PM
|
what else would that fear be if it wasn't fear of failure?That the girl so stubborn in her belief would hide away in the dust,
dust allergy, allergic to those particles of dead skin and fluff,
yet she burrows so willingly in,
fear does funny things to people.
The language of my ancestors,
but in this day and age whoever still cares about the past?
In this frenzy of new shining change,
the days of the old belong in that dusty corner of sadness.
Yet it is in this corner she crouches.
There should be a balance to everything,
a surfeit of the sweetest things the deepest loathing to the heart brings
yet the girl cannot, doesn't want to, cannot achieve this balance.
Sometimes she thinks she was not made for this world.
Not a proud statement, but one of sadness.
So quickly everything changes, no room for those who are not the best.
What do you do when you are expected to be the best but you cannot?
When the unspoken hopes for you are dismissed with a "Just do your best" but you know that even in the small chance that they really do not care, the world cares.
Only a select few can ignore what the world thinks,
and the child was never meant to be one of the chosen few.
So the child runs away from the knives,
hiding, burrowing under the comforting layers of dust.
This is a cycle that should not be continued,
For the more she hides the more the dust swallows and refuses to let go,
the beckoning of the sunshine weaken and then fade as faith in her is lost,
yet the child doesn't know what to do,
so she sticks with what she knows.
Perhaps that will be where she dies.
the purple piggy oinked 7:37 PM
| Thursday, November 3, 2011
Like
eggs waiting to be cracked,pencils to be broken,
glasses to be shattered,
paper to be torn,
We
scribble through exams,
stutter through interviews,
mumble through conversations,
act through life.
the purple piggy oinked 11:27 PM
|
The alarm rings.
Bleary-eyed, the men shuffle off.
No more a child, not yet a man,
he stands in the middle of the crowd,
observing but not seeing.
But there is no place for this,
in a society of orderly speed.
A quick prod, and he too, shuffles off.
A man stands by the door,
handing out towels with organised efficiency.
No time to wash, no time to stop,
the cold roughness of the towel blank the stare.
Arranged in neat blocks of four by four,
it's time for work.
the purple piggy oinked 11:18 PM
|
soon the knives will have their turn in the spotlight,
shards of light spinning into the audience,
the child who watches in awe will receive,
and the red gushing will be her payment.
the purple piggy oinked 11:04 PM
