ODE TO MY INCOMPLETE POEMS by Ebuara Cajal

Time tampers with everything that exists. Death comes with time, and we cannot resist aging, withering, fading. We cannot resist all it brings. For it comes upon us like bandits within woods. Like an unexpected blast of lightening.

She loved me yesterday, and so I began writing my heart out on paper.
Today, she loves me no more. I’ve learned my lesson: to use pencils when writing poems about things that are fake; ink when writing poems about death, for it is certain — while love may just be another mistake.

You sure can make a pronunciation that’s true today.
And time transforms your true words into a lie on another day.
So I write my poems at night, in the dark
I guess that’s the only time little changes happen until daylight comes back.

My happy is a high fever that will break.
Just why I have incomplete poems titled Happiness, Peace Of Mind, and Moments with Kate.
It’s true that love is a facade to those who are unhappy and have no peace of mind.

I have tried to pull those Shakespeare stunts too.
I’ve tried to make my poems sound like King James whenever I read them to you.
But such poems never rhyme until the end
So please permit me to pull my own stunts just for you my friend.

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