Raydon Willfur @raldyfox - Tumblr Blog

[Tenderly they raised their hands towards them, closer to their chest, as their words are their offer.]

#original #short #freestyle #prose #yearning #devotion #writing

[“I’ve already given my life to him. And then to hers too. While their time passed, mine did too. At the same time.”

“If that’s the case, then what’s one more?”

“It’s different. Now, I’m living an eternity and it doesn’t stop. I’m not sure you understand that.”

“I’ll give mine to you then, instead.”

“You’ll live without an end.”

“I’ve been choosing to chase you for as long as I could remember. Don’t you see? You are my end.”]

#dialogue #writing #prose #confesssion #time travel #found

I sing to you not for those above me, below me—I sing to you for fiction, for a lesson, for a foolhardy; for a deterrent that hymns bouts of reality from multiple specs. I sing to you not because of others, but for a sake I cannot betray.

#original #prose #confession #yearn #writing

[He wonders.

And so he wandered.]

#original #light #freestyle #prose #short #adventure

Take a plunge. Or drown it all

#original #prose #freestyle #short

“Passing one meeting is passing a lifetime fate.”

#prose #original #short #light #writing

The promise of repetition

Is a weak peace of mind,

Dangling like the balance

Of rickshaws,

Shared one and two-ways

Derailing thoughts

To the station tracks for long

And then, and then

…

.

The promise of repitition

Is of no reprieve from

Moans of limbs

As you hung on the mountain, the

Little helper a rope on your waist

And with the stopper

Called friend,

A human;

A dog;

A cat;

A plant;

A memory;

A sentiment;

A friend;

.

…A person.

.

Repitition is of a phase—

Should be a phase,

For staying in limbo

Bears lightness

No person could take

Without risking all

For the sake of

Finding

A peace.

#original #poem #short #freestyle #limbo #repitition #unaccomplished

A Lullaby

Thank you. For the bottom of their heart, for existing.

.

But they do not say, for their tongue feels the weight of a star. A very whimsical, forgetful star. Such a thing it is they cannot catch it for longer than a second, and can only feel the sensation before it burns where they are cradled and goes far, far away.

#original #prose #writing #nostalgia #heavy #thoughts #short #gratitude #thankful

Spaghetti

<•>

I remember being of full, of it being

Sweet but not too much as it

Bursts nicely

In my mouth;

The long noodles of tomato

Sauce and

Meatballs,

Creamy cheese melted

And I’d eat, eat, eat,

Like I’m chugging something

Addictive

My lips was covered; red

And messy—

And I’d remembered being

Full that It’d ask “Spaghetti”

For my Birthday,

Ten years later after that

Memory

#original #poem #short #light #nostalgia #spaghetti #freestyle

Believe in Me

I told them:

.

I had believed I was a messenger of

Heaven;

I still believed I see

Devils on my mirror;

I can believed that my

Beliefs hold me, and I speak beyond my blood

And colour—an organ, carrying my identity with it, pumping my life and no

More than it that.

.

I was made of flesh, born, and see the basin carrying water

To be baptist as newborn under the cross,

Under the view of my

Religion. I assumed, it was

Like many others I witnessed as young kin

Of church.

.

And older, a day, a month, a year, in another country later:

Icy-veins I felt from the fingers to my arms, to my toes, frozing in untangilabe scare, alone

In my dark, dark room.

I was 12, weeping and thought:

I wished my hesrt to resist, let it be stone

So I would not cry, to simmer my anger out

Why not!?

.

It rejects

I reject it:

And heart pounded, my tears

Crinkling from my eyes, hanging off my eyelids

Down, down, to the floor

To my

homely

floor.

My throat chokes

I cannot keep it still.

.

My mind reeled to a story of a memory

I hoped to think I truly do hold dear: My silly mistakes, my promises,

My lies,

My childhood: I was living

Off the floor, a computer and I was

Everywhere, nowhere, but grounded

In my little corner of the

Room.

.

Don’t let me forget you, child.

.

Forget to pray, to beg, to be arrogant,

Be nothing but the silence you permeates

Around you.

.

Don’t forget this lesson, child

You born under the cross,

Once aquianted with the church every Sunday

At mass

And now you see yourself not

A follower

But a lover of arts

And a hyprocite of your religion,

Learning alongside them

And you see it, oh yes,

So close and you are there;

So far and you are the only one here.

.

Be still my beating heart.

.

It asks, “What are you, if nothing

But a walking dead?”

.

I believed to be an animal, a person,

Speaking, recognizing, engaging,

Walking on two feet.

.

It asks again, “Are you true?”

.

Again, I told them:

.

I believed because the rest of me

Can cry,

Can twinkle my toes,

Can laugh,

Can hate,

And love.

I can move and heart,

My dear heart, the holder of my being: “You are alive.

And I am alive.”

.

I can think, therefore I am here. I am living as you,

and

you as me.

#poem #original #deep #writing #free-form #identity-crisis #identity

Villia Pangarap

Stores a-plenty, Blanket roofs

Sun-dried thugs, Long street—

To slide under a rainfall

#original #nostalgia #poem #haiku #writing #home #reminisnce #light #short

Dear you,

.

Recognizing

Despair;

Depression;

Disappointment;

Dispassionate;

Determination;

Anger;

Happiness;

Love.

.

—To whom I put down these words

When described,

Could you

Tell me

The weight of the history

Each—no, all

Nouns that had

been

made(and continuing) expresses?

.

For I don’t know.

Yet I’m

Adamant in sharing

These

Common, large words, as

.

Addictive in my high

Of labelling, the power

I feel when I simply call

Them out, as

Using for my advocation, when reading

When writing, when recognizing, finally,

What am I truly saying.

.

I ask you, I beg of you

What is the weight of my words?

To them. To you.

.

Sincerely yours,

A surrogate child of your language

#original #poem #questions #writing #freestyle #a letter #words

Describing Sweet Nothings

True to it

She was a form.

Subtle, gentle, and merely

A smooth, teasing

Motion.

.

She was beautiful,

For I see her

Eyes smilling in crescents

Or her nails were more deeper than

Her skin.

.

Juxtaposition to her tone

Her words clothed

In Red, pink, purple—a rainbow,

Colouring my thoughts

With its slow poison.

#original #poem #short #freestyle #sweetnothings #light

Opinion of A Belief

Series of thin coils.

Bit and bit, a pull whilst in peace

In months, days, minutes,

Seconds

The line is never-stopping.

.

Fingertips are humming

My mind wandering,

My feet are planted

And my heart

Murks

And sinks.

.

To cringe

Infer from the scene

Of the tone

Red and blue, mixing purples and

Shades.

Nerves of my wrist,

My calves,

Screaming like

My veins

.

Thin, bit and bit, I pulled.

Wisps of the thread disappears

behind.

I see the dust

Ever-constant,

As the bubbles of rage

On my throat.

.

My fingertips still burn.

Keep going

For my position

And my

person

Ever-moving.

#original #poem #freestyle #onthespot

Muffled

On a wall so paper thin it’s visible, I see

Clobber sounds I imagine comes when people walk, their footsteps heavy or soft depending on the pits of rain,

Trees fluttering, the sounds of crackles coming in faint rumbles,

Like the grass beneath but perhaps the feeling or warmth and softness is more apparent than whatever things I hear from it.

.

The sound-out groans, it moans in whistles,

Reminding me that things I described are things

I cannot hear behind where I am.

.

Yet I can imagine the echos the wind makes

When people walk, the thud and clobber the sounds of their shoes would make

The pitter-patter of rain, distinct

Sound of the sharp stream a car going past, motors screeching I fell more in

Curses rather than calm.

.

On a wall so paper-thin it’s visible, I hear and

Think, pictures aboard,

The muffled sounds of what a wind would speak

#Original #poem #freestyle #rain #soft #light #short #window #wind #sounds #sight #thoughts

Power

”How the mighty hath fallen.”

#Simple #short #poem #repeated cycle

A Sip

Licking wounds

from the already

faded but still

reddened cheeks.

It‘s the eyes,

the twitch

of the

brows to the

muscles of the

mouth—

.

I can see it talk.

I can hear it speak.

I can feel many thoughts.

but maybe it

wasn’t.

.

A past is backward.

Did you ever took

a step forward?

#A Sip #Poem #light #original

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Raydon Willfur