My Box Of Mysteries

The box of mysteries, like its name suggests,
Is full of mysteries, and your dream manifests.

Surreal, unknown but powerful,
Your very own secret tool!

Dispellere the starryless nights,
Behold the breath taking sights!

Exciting yet cautiously wary,
Of the evil the box may carry.

Open it and rainbows fill the skies,
Close it; it'll take a few tries.

For the beauty is there without discrete,
Why arent you simply embracing it?

The reason is difficult, however clear.
That its not anything but fear.

Sigh.
Try?

My box of mysteries, unlike its name suggests,
Isnt full of mysteries, but it may be where your dream rests.

-Jinwei
Dedicated to the one person/s who is smart enough to recognise this goes to who.
So ultimately this may go to a few people, but belongs to mainly one.

February's Ending Journey

The path I walked this morning,
Was long and vastly bare.
I thought I had this feeling,
Where peace and comfort pair.

But they were wrongs!
As I found out.
It came in Throngs!
I had to shout.

Why? Why me?!
Art thou too free?

To pester me with these endless pricks.
The pangs, are they your usual tricks?

I wish I knew the answers to all,
But clues were few, the hints appal.

So I gropped and ran, towards the end.
What? the end? I actually knew?
This left? This turn, Or pass this cuving bend?
Behind this road, beyond that hill?

I need the answers, I need the truth!
Before my destination, which i kept always in sight.
Only to realise I had only to disprove
That at the end of the tunnel there is no light.

I stopped, so suddenly,
A step no further.
And all I happened to see,
Was this lonesome flower.

Pick me! Pick me!
It said with glee.

You're crazy! I said, to the yellow one.
You'll die! Without the soil and sun.

But its boring here! I have no friends!
I stood there, aloof, it made some sense.

Before I knew it, I was where I was to be
To regain myself, I had to pause.
To think through this journey, it was no feat lightly.
The reason, the pain, and their undenying cause.

When will it be the time?
Where things all start to rhyme?

Or when it would not have to cower,
That poor, lonely little flower.

Link to main post at blog

Undying Presence

When the clouds traverse the darkened skies,
The cresence, unseen, a slouching soul.
Her hands so cold, her silent cries,
I wish I knew, the stories untold.

The stars appear, to witness her trudge,
On the endless roads, to an endless place.
I wish, she could feel, my careful touch,
The touch to heal, a wearied face.

Alas, eventually the orange streaks will always spill,
Onto the shoulders, of the horizon ends.
The skies light up, and the colours fill,
The lush green leaves, the beautiful scents.

She opens her eyes, to see a sight,
The shuffling wind, replaced by the birdies' sing.
The tears agone, gone with the night,
But I've always been there, for I am Spring.

And a Spring, at night, will still be Spring.

I took around 1hour plus for this one, and it goes to Clara