Buddy's Writings

The great Ming armada chargers,
Its spirit propelling it through the sea
Wandering blindly over a maze of water;
A monolith of faith, in human prevalence.

Its captain the grand Zheng He,
A man of immense stature;
With an iron fist as his action.
And a modest soul as his means.

Their journey would take them far, far away,
Led to a sea of exotic landsl
To a striking world of spices,
India greets them.

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The measure of a man is small,
Actions in his life, overpowered;
Even as his image is tall
He is lost in himself; deferred.

Oh, the strife and unrest;
Matured, simply by growing old
What heart must he possess,
To love and obseve the world?

A father is a pillar of direction;
Mine, a symbol of my life,
Firm actions and callous reflections
Become the way to overcome strife.

Grow stronger: with humility, stand true;
The world will never pause for you.

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Do you ever feel the urge to give up on your life? Your goals are falling from your mind... your dreams bursting into a dull powder. Maybe, once upon a time, they were enough to carry your dreams, but not now... not here. The weight of the world is coming down on your shoulders. The tired sense of life is dragging your soul towards itself. You do not know which way is up... which direction is out. Lost in a world of unending depression.

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This emptiness,
Is it really that bad?
Is it because of what is left?
A hole where you used to be.

I can try to replace you,
But who is big enough to fit that gap?
Not a god, not another,
But maybe a dream.

That's it... a dream!
A dream of what we had,
A dream of what I have,
But what do I have?

A dream of you.

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I still hear your fleeting hope,
The draw of your passion,
Praying to my soul,
Stealing my thoughts.

I pray that one day I will understand them,
That I will know their needs,
To help the helpless dreams,
For now I need you here.

I can no longer here their voices,
I know not what I shall see,
I can no longer understand...
Because those screams came from me.

I wish you were still here,
To explain this lonely path,
I wish that I could hear you,
Oh, how lonely it is to die last.

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This moment is what a writer would dream of,
The orange glow of the sun,
The cool Arizona breeze sweeping over their soul,
And the sweet melody of a soft arrangement.

My revolver flicks from my side,
Arms raised, eyes unblinking,
A shot rings through my soul,
Rebounding off what is left.

I rethink that moment,
Claret life pouring from my body,
Pulsating agony as my foe sees that I am done,
Faith is all that remains.

I am defined,
Not by my hopes or dreams,
Nor my actions or life,
But in my death.

My being in a box,
Waiting unflinchingly,
For what lies beyond?

I shall see.

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The words that we hear,
Are forever sound,
Provoking our dreams,
Onward bound.

They float through the air,
The music of life,
Without them we'd stray,
Lost to our strife.

Marked by our hope,
Spread by our dreams,
Forever they travel,
Between you and me.

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Like a sign it waits for me,
Forever watching it sets us free,
The pain that's here will be gone,
With the end of life, we end our song,

It was fun while we were living,
Sitting, waiting for our passing,
We'll leave this earth with a fear,
Does heaven wait or are we here.

You spend your life waiting on,
But what you wanted is long gone,
This one life is what you need.
With your death you lose your means.

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It starts with a word... "Dreams" and from there it grows... "What are dreams? Are they some sick joke imposed on us by a God that created us, or perhaps a mistake in our long evolution." Silence... Not a sound could be heard throughout the room. "Dreams show nothing other than our hope for a better world. Our powerlessness and lack of resolve when things are too difficult for us to comprehend. What are dreams good for?" Still... nothing. The room was void of sound. Only the clock. "Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock." A hand goes up and every head in the room shifts towards it.

The person who was speaking before nodded in acknowledgment and the other person began to speak. "Dreams are what make us humans. They help us to understand the logic that are universe it based on. Without them what would we be? Would we think of the future at all? Would we understand the things that keep us sane? Everyone needs hope; therefore, everyone needs to dream."

"Do you think that one outweighs the other?"
"I think..." A loud buzzing sweeps through the room. With it came the rustle of movement and the sound of the halls filling with commotion.

The man standing in the front of the room sat down and started writing in a notebook on his desk. With an exasperated sigh he waved his left hand towards the door. "Class dismissed."

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