Lagumbay.com Reflections on Love, Rage, and Fear

Water doesn’t have to rhyme, I suppose –
It goes where it flows, a pitcher of thoughts
pouring into prose — absorbed into unsuspecting pages,
consumed by its confused creator, convinced
that any revelation of his soul is strictly accidental
dismissing the word-stained canvas as ornamental
a tie-dyed distraction from confessions seeping in,
that the master’s fortress wall is paper thin,
that the world may see the ghosts within –
to fight a fight he cannot win
But water doesn’t have to rhyme, I suppose.
It could meander where it pleases,
through paper’s microscopic creases.
Like the tide, I have seen it come and go
revealing of me things I did not know
And every time the unrhymed torrent passes through
I am broken into pieces, left to build anew.