The world crashes down around us
as we watch with crooked smiles
and bare bones.

The sun slips through the towering

trees

and sparkles light down on us

gracefully.

Your fingers

grasp mine

with a boyish 

clumsiness 

but gently.

I was shy

and you were 

too sarcastic

We dance with 

the thought that 

we don't deserve the other

through the colored leaves

that decorate the forest floor

The scattered light

catching your eyes and hair

like the most beautiful thing

I had ever seen

I think to myself

I hope

-I pray

that I never forget this moment.

And I smile.

Quite often

we forget

the sounds

that speak 

most clearly

to our starving

souls. 

...

I stand alone,
in the middle of this desolate meadow
letting the rain
wash me clean.

To scream
to the Heaven's
Why are you doing this to me?
Would only make things worse.

For I know
that no one
will answer me.

The Beautiful Life

We sit alone
listening to the waves roll in
as our fingers and toes
dig into the soft sand

The fading sun
reflecting
a world so beautiful
from your hazel eyes.

I watch
with awe and wonder.

How lucky I must be
to have found someone
so lovely
so lively
to love me

I smile,
and laugh to myself
while shaking my head.

What a beautiful day.
Such a beautiful life. 

To Know (Without Knowing)

When I met you
I knew
without knowing
that our time together
would be short.

That together
we would burn brighter
than even our sun

but that eventually
our light would burn out
and that
you would move on.

I could see it
without seeing
your expression
when you told me
that everything
was
fine.

I could hear it
when your heart broke
and I helped
to wipe away
your silent tears.

And yet
I told myself
-foolishly-
that I was wrong
and that you
Of all the people
whom I have met in this world
were the one
that knew my soul
spoke
to my heart
and sparked my curiosity.

How interesting
How peculiar, really,
that friendship
feels so much like love
but the loss
in many ways
hurts

far worse.  

Rose Colored Glasses

The easy Spring breeze
smells of fresh flowers,
and wild grass.

I sit, overlooking the winding stream.
The water gliding over the rocks
rounded with time and erosion.

And as I eye my own reflection,
I cannot help but think of this place.
Home.
Here in an open meadow,
beside the small stream.

Through my rose colored glasses
it is the most beautiful painting
of them all.
A painting
that I hope to one day
create.

Meadow Stream

by T. C. Chiu