It Will Pass Too

I suddenly realize
The professional sports on TV
That had infatuated me for decades
Have passed away from my life for many years.
But the rose garden
That has been living wild in my mind
For my entire adult life
(and my kid’s life too…)
Is still lingering in my twilight of sensuality.
I might be holding the tail of my disappearing fleshy desire
With passionless desperate mind.
It will pass soon though.
Before everything passes away,
I want to love the final rose
Just like I had a crush on golf scores of years ago,
Because it will pass too…..
But I hope it wouldn’t.

What Is REAL?

This flower is pretty and fragrant.
This flower is fake.
Dang! The scent is fake too?
Well, the scent must a fake you’ve made up.
Why is the fake flower in the water?
The water is fake too.
What?! Then what is real?
Maybe the vase should be real.
The real vase with a fake flower and fake water in it is real?
Who knows….

This fake follower brightens the whole house.
It has real good scent too…
This fake flower enjoys its eternal life.
Ah!  It is more real than
A real follower that would be withered and thrown into trash
In a few days?

I come to know the reason –
Fakes are rampant these days.
Should I become fake too?
Well, I don’t know who my real I is.
Fake I am me.
Real I am me.
I am who I am.

However, there must be true real?



Vampires suck human blood
To live ’cause it’s their food.
Nectar is not my food
But I’m longing for it…
Not like vampires that drink blood,
Are not alive really,
Are not living really,
I who am sucking nectar,
Is alive really,
Is living really.
I wanna live! I wanna live! I wanna live!
The desperate screaming of vampires
That are not able to die,
Is the same as the last agony of my seductive voice
That throws myself into the deep valley
Toward the flowing nectar..

Flower Garden

It fills my hollow mind with scent of flowers.
Scent of a young flower blossoms into a dream,
Dream from which I never wanted to wake up,
Dream in which I had a sizzling rendezvous.
Rendezvous which became a hallucination in a garden,
Garden that I’ve been dragged into happily.
Hallucination that creates quite a few memories,
Hallucination that is singing a parting song prematurely.

My would-be allergy to flower fragrance
Suddenly throws me out of my wearisome tunnel and
Make me hold my breath waiting for tomorrow.
My life that’s been running 50 miles an hour,
Suddenly is walking 5 miles an hour.
May feeble legs that’s been backstepping to the past,
Suddenly is running up and down the stairs like a pro athlete.

I must have a good reason to lead a zealous life
In this flower garden.

A Fantasy

That’s why it’s called fantasy.
‘Cause it happened before.
It’s the reason for fantasy.
‘Cause it’s too fantastic.
It might happen again.
‘Cause it shouldn’t happen.
That’s why it’s food of my life
‘Cause it’ll survive my death.

My fantasy will die with me, won’t it?
My fantasy seems to have its own life.
Why don’t I give more power to my fantasy? Then,
It might become a reality someday, which
Is a fantasy too….

Trace of Sinners

The summer waiting on the dark side of the moon
Might have woken her up.
“I was here…”
She’s left a piece of her fragrance
In the darkish nook of my mind.
She might’ve been found a slice of my frail heart that
I’ve left in the deep corner of her room…

Our one mind out of two different minds,
Wanted to commit sins without reins.
Ah! Just like the disease that chained Disciple Paul
Our sinful minds have coiled up between us,
Keeping each other’s memory.
What we only do is that we leave a trace after
Staying a while in front of each other’s door.
Our trace that that might be blown away by
A hot summer breeze.

“Why did you do it?”
What if she knocks the door?
A slight fear in my mind creeps up.

Rummaging Trash Can

I will show you my trash.
I take out my cherished trash one by one,
Starting from the least sticking one.

“Who wouldn’t have this kind of trash?”
“This world is a huge trash can, isn’t it?”
She’s given me courage to
Dig my garbage bin deeper and deeper,
Hoping she would show me her beautiful trash too.

“I empty my trash can once in a while.”

She’s made my heart sink deep.
I’ve put a pause in myself,
Grabbing a piece of trash of which stench
I can’t even bear, while
Drawing a picture of myself thrown deep into her trash…

A Bump

Damn it!
That stupid bump
Slowed down my already-too-slow life,
Plunging me into deep sorrow.

Blessed are those who mourn.
Am I mourning?
Because of that beautiful bump.

Yeah I will decorate that rock
With the most gorgeous flower in the world and
Bury my sorrow deep under the rock
Then can I get an enormous comfort from above?

I should expect really humongous bump or
Even a wall.
Just little pebbles would be enough
Since I can stumble over any rocks
No matter how small they are….

A Lavish Expression of Love [John 12,1-8] 

A woman in Bethany called Mary

Poured heartily an expensive pure nard perfume
On the filthy feet of a man who’s going to die in vain and
Wiped them smoothly with her silky hair
As if a mother towels her own baby.

The luxurious fragrance filled the room while
The anger of material-ingrained Judas made
Mary an adulterous woman and
Gave stones to people’s mind surreptitiously.

Ah!  But,
The image of the woman drags me to a flower garden.

You guys know love?
Jesus’ this not-so-soft expression made
The woman a luxury item and
The story has been delivered to my ears.

The woman who loved Jesus with all of her heart
Expressed her love by
Throwing away the most precious thing
As if a sinking ship jettisons its fuel.

Well, what should I dump?
Looks like I haven’t loved like that yet.