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Goes by hand Hand that used to be sand. It goes to a dozen numbers Around. Watching it Slowly. Turning away Quickly. Yet It brings everything. The one thing that matters. To be suddenly caught Standstill. Like the wind it knocks Over. Or, pull the metaphorical rug Under.
A face without name As I walk on a path in the hills Counting the rocks Under the beating sun I cannot remember I remember only to forget That face What’s the name? There are memories Faint visions but the face The face is always sharp In focus Each step I take I chew on words Ruminate on these images Fading A figure waves In the distance As I look up from the rocks And stop counting my steps I was so close But I already forget What was it that I tried So hard to remember? We walk towards the sunset Down the hill Into the forest And wait for the stars. – Fu Lien Hsu June 28, 2016
They come, resistance. Pressure shifts, moving from high to low. Sometimes, a breeze. Other times, a tempest. How did the pressure build? Have you experienced the winds in a storm? It blows you back. If you try to fly a kite, the string may snap. Even trees bow or crack. So do you hide? You can turn around and make them tailwinds. If you are ok with moving in a different direction? For now. Or just wait. For how long? Either way, you will arrive. They say, “All roads lead to Rome.”
Are you nervous? Yes. Are you scared? Yes. So why? I don’t know. Why what? Why do you keep going? There is hope. There is change. Do things really change? Always. In this second, you already are not who you were. So that’s hope? No. Hope is believing in and building for that change. If you believe, then why are you nervous and scared? There is the unknown. We all fear the unknown. What is unknown? You never know what the future holds. Then what do you do? You hope.
I’ve been reading a lot “People change” I’ve been thinking a lot “only time will tell” I’ve been writing a lot “who am I?” I’ve been… Laughing all about the same But really silent on the name I am drawing blanks to describe The only things that come to mind As I soak in the Californian sun On the beaches where we used to run I still got that sand in my car From days I no longer remember The past is the past So do I really want to talk? I’ve been reading a lot “People change” I’ve been thinking a lot “only time will tell” I’ve been writing a lot “what I have done” I’ve been… Working night and day Trying to be a better man The writing is not on the wall When I still got time to have it all My patience grows from a seed Slowly becoming a grand tree I go forward with a plan Working pieces like new bricks As I build a town to call my own …
Over and over I say to myself, I remind myself, I write myself. Into curves and straights, corners and turns without coming to an end because the past is never in sight and the present lingers for only a second. The future demands to be known with each stroke of the pen, it becomes present and is written into the past. The eternal struggle. Memories selected for harvest until a later date confirmed only when they are opened once again. That is not all, that is not all. There are those that remain in your mind but blanked out, slowly again by time. I feel the need to explore the depths of the lost chambers that echo within dreams. I feel the need of a flashlight into the wells of dark water long bathed in the moonlight. A moonlight that shone since the morning I opened my eyes. 7:45 AM the clock once read and will read again. This is a cycle, unending till you realize you have gone away from something at the same …