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Literature Text
Trailing a line of stones in the sand,
making sure I still know the path
because if I don’t know where I came from,
how can I know where I’m going?
But I’ve lost the stones before,
many times I’ve lost that North Star
in the dark and cold while the wind is blowing,
which way am I supposed to be sailing?
There’s nothing around me but ocean.
So I pick a star, any star
(because any star will do)
and it becomes mine, my North Star,
until I lose my way again,
lose sight of the vaulted ceiling,
forget the color and bent of the sky
until I grab another, latch onto a lifeline,
clutch it close to myself, ask,
Are you it? Are you my North Star?
And it must be—
I have nothing else.
making sure I still know the path
because if I don’t know where I came from,
how can I know where I’m going?
But I’ve lost the stones before,
many times I’ve lost that North Star
in the dark and cold while the wind is blowing,
which way am I supposed to be sailing?
There’s nothing around me but ocean.
So I pick a star, any star
(because any star will do)
and it becomes mine, my North Star,
until I lose my way again,
lose sight of the vaulted ceiling,
forget the color and bent of the sky
until I grab another, latch onto a lifeline,
clutch it close to myself, ask,
Are you it? Are you my North Star?
And it must be—
I have nothing else.
Literature
To My Brother
My mother tended her first yield tender,
with slender fingers interlocked in a cradle
placed over her ripe stomach,
the calluses raised from farm labor
serving as little pillows for her son.
The first time she felt the quake underneath her flesh—
the little feet,
the kicking feet that would someday hold up a man—
she whispered his name,
Masahiro, Masahiro.
The son rising in the east to reflect her soul.
But dawn broke too early,
stretching its scarlet, wet arms over her underwear,
spitting defiance in a rush of water soaking her feet.
On the way to the hospital,
she clutched her splitting stomach,
screaming and ple
Literature
Trust
Trust.
It's something earned,
Not given.
It's like an ember of my heart,
Placed inside yours
To hold and protect.
Extinguishing it or throwing it away
Will break our bond,
It may never be repaired.
Don't try to steal an ember,
For it's not rightfully yours
Until I personally place it in your chest.
Once it's there,
It grows and strengthens
Until it's a fire.
A fire of trust
That can't be extinguished
That can't be thrown out.
It will always be there,
Linking me to you.
Literature
Regret?
Everyone writes about broken dreams, whether love is worth the pain, the crushed dreams of yesterday and chipped hearts incomplete. Everyone writes out of insecurities of the beautiful that brings us anguish of a heartful. I believe that the more negative things we spread in this world, the darker this world will become. And if only we could learn to share in action and words of the things we should live for, then this world may just have become just a little bit better than before.
We should never forfeit the good things in life because of the bad,and make our decisions in life based soly upon them. The most valuable things in life are defi
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because you're only lost until you decide you were probably going that way anyway.
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This is beautiful 