The Lice

The Church bell tolls,
     she pays a heavy price.
Fingers in empty holes
     she begins a life of lies.

Her story is never told--
     the Filipina and her rice.

For no one was so bold
     to admit she had a price.

For centuries She suffered
     dominion of other race,

Freedom maybe encountered
     but not by her pretty face.
At poverty's brink cornered

     a life led disgraced.

Imprisoned by her own designs--
     a life of sorrow and despise
     release from capital ties

Until finally at last, in her demise
     half-truths revealed to their eyes
     sees only old rich men that dies
          in loving arms of, truly, a lice.
 
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Poetry, despite my ability to be able to comprehend and interpret them clearly, is not actually one of my best suits in creative writing. So here's one of my crude poetry which I hope will be understood. 

Farther

     A vision... 

     A distant foreign land whose image is only familiar to me from a flat box of moving pictures. 

     The street lamps...
     The scent of spring blossoms... 
     The rustling of the trees... 
     The aroma of freshly cooked steak... 

      
     New York. Somehow I am in New York. 

      But no excitement fills me with that thought. It is insignificant. It is nothing but the background to this tall, lean image of a dashing man as dark as the emptiness of my soul. 

      He turns, sees me and smiles... And oh, what a smile! 

      Bliss surges in my body -- emanating from a glowing ball in the deepest recesses of my being -- ready to burst! 

      I must grip my bag, if only to help hold in this emotion. 

      Damn these involuntary muscles on my cheeks! Stop! It must not show! 

      My God, I can't! 

      He is ten feet away. I run to him! Unyielding feet! Not so fast! 

      ...Hah! Hah!...Panting. I bend over, my bag slung to my arm while I grip my knees as I catch my breath. 

      I cringe at my own folly. Such lack of poise and finesse. What he must think of me! Desperate? 

      But... Be strong, ask. It is a mater of life and death now. 

       Lunch? 

      Thank goodness he said yes.
    
       He holds my hand and brings me to my seat. He truly is what I thought he was -- a gentleman -- a dying breed. 

       He seats and opens his mouth. The sound of his low enchanting voice asks how I was doing, what am I up to, what do I think of New York. So many questions...

       ...Too many questions. I don't want to answer a single one; for every word only hinders me from listening to him. 

       I'm okay. Not so much. It's okay. Everything is okay... 

       Yes, that's it. I must be brief. No long and winding answers. How are you? What are you up to? How long have you been in New York? 

       I must keep him talking. 

       His eyes glistening in delight. 
       His brow raising as he speaks with confidence. 
       His lips pressing against each other with every other syllable. 
       And at the end of each sentence -- and how I long for the end - his lips move apart and arches up revealing that smile. 

       Sighs... That smile. 

       Wait! Is that smile for me? Is that smile only for me? 

       He is happy that he's with me. That hand ... His hand laying across the table, should I... For a long time, I've waited for this. 

       For the second time, in the hour, I must call upon my strength once more. Be strong! Be brave! 

       ... And here I am, my fingers interlaced with his. New York maybe a better city for love. 

       I awkwardly smile back -- embarrassed and proud; nervous and calm; flirty but aloof; certan but uncertain all at the same time -- a conundrum of emotions, a paradox of thoughts, a contradiction of beings --- a psycho. 

      Wait! He is leaning forward. What's happening? Is there something on my face? 

      His finger rests below my chin. His face... His face... So close! 

      Don't... Breathe... He might die. 

     ... A moment of silence... 

     I'm silly, he says. I'm aware. 
     Just relax, he says. I'm incapable. 
     He won't bite, he says. I'm disappointed. 

     He leans in even further for a kiss, I'm certain it's a kiss, and I lean forward to meet him half-way just as I have always done. Just as I always will. Besides, what's an inch to crossing the world. I've gone this far and I intend to go farther. 

     His lips... His tongue. Such a bitter-sweet taste. 

     He is sitting back down. I press my fingers on my lips still wide-eyed and mesmerized. I linger... 

     Sighs... Lunch. I ordered steak... Why steak? I should have ordered something else. Why don't I like salads? 

     But this steak is invigorating. My knees have gone weak from the running, the smiling and the kissing...
     
     What a wonderful lunch. I'm so happy, I could die. 
     Is what some poor stupid soul would say. But I'm only a silly little psycho, who knows moments like this are rare but it can be prolonged. Tomorrow when I wake up, I pray, that I can see him, run to him, smile back at him and kiss him. 


     I brought some souvenirs for him which are in my hotel room. 

     We are talking, walking and holding each other's hand until that spiteful minute of searching for the card key. He lets my hand go but why can't he hold it again? 

      I'm thinking too much over it. I should probably give him the souvenir. I hope he likes it. 

      I 'm walking and glancing all over the room to find the bag with the souvenirs. He stands right behind me. I hear him sigh. He must be bored! I see the bag! 

     I take a step forward then stopped! What's this? I can feel his warmth on my back. His left hand hugging my waist and his right hand on my neck, his arm draped on my chest. 

     He whispers in my ear. 

     Love... For so long... To hear it from his lips. I've always known. I've always felt it despite the oceans that separated us. But to hear it while he's so close.... I can't help it. A tear falls and runs down on my cheek and unto his arm. I grip his arm... 

    I grip his arm... 

    I grip his arm... 

    Why can't I hold him? 

    Open my eyes! Open! 

     ... A vision. 
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This piece was inspired by a dream I had on the eve of St. Valentine's Day. 

After a hard day's work and getting wet by the rain, I had a cold. I wanted to go to work by the next day so I had taken two tablets of Neozep, so I can at least breathe (really not something I would recommend). I believe as a result of that (again, it's unadvisable to do what I did), I had this very vivid dream. 

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you for taking the time to read it.