Grief In Three Roses

By myself at a funeral wake,

Grief wiped my tears and knocked sense into my head.

It said -

Silly, silly, silly!

Grief is the thing that is born out of love.

A pain paid by the folly in love longing,

To escape the vanishing in a stormy whirlpool and

Beat through the new dawn a pensive sunrise!

The beloved gone now say -

For it is not my passing that is sad but your

Loneliness that memories of me must now be remembered

Fondly, as you live out your life bravely without me.

Grief can pour regrets and wish to better a loss but

It is mine, the leaver’s heart that passes you Grief in three roses,

Never withering as I had already died

For them to live just so you can see that

The first rose was the whole universe in the shape of my existence,

The second rose was the sand of my memories and the

Doneness of my purpose, promise and possibilities,

While the third rose speaks of all our dreams

That drew strength and the goodness of being together.

Do you have ours and yours to see?

The roses are in your Grief.

They do not weep silly to be your beacon,

In all due respect to Grief or me,

The dearly departed.

- Vander

Hated, wherever she went

Madison was hated her whole life.

Younger, bullies shoved her into corners.

Older, people she knew forced her to quit her ways 

Because of how she looked straight at the world 

A brave wit weirdo 

Tearing away faux kindness and needless fairness.

Bludgeoning wobbling layers of manned society 

That people were told never to be like this.

And by her fearless just being free

Threw thousand daggers at one’s standing.

Often a blow, she was brutal at talk and act and everything else

Foraging with quick-feet morals and clarity.

Oh my, they dreadfully despised her 

Since she didn’t care about what so many others think.

They said goblins already told her to shut it or vanish!

Little did they know how maiming hurt she was.

Poor Madison wept the well, overflowing it till

The cobblestone walls collapsed,

Setting her water out running,

Desperately for help.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe juices and in no relation to any actual entities).

The Spirit Twin Swords

Once, there was a girl with the spirit of twin swords. 

One sword of her soul burnt with the flame of a venomous vitriol, 

A volcano that pushed fear down the hills. 

The other sword also hidden in her,

Sent waters crashing through breached enclaves

Relieving the hottest, driest earth.

Whether flooding or burning was her nature,

It was not known further until 

She could heal while killing, reducing to ashes

Armies and troops that stood in her way at battle

Which she had won and still won again,

With or without the twin swords on her hands. 

It was as if all the Gods came in to the right rescue,

When girl appeared before the hundred weak ones 

Having threatened knives nicked at their necks.

On the wish of a destitute, she is called out to

The spirit swords carefree to enter into a vicious force with her.

Where fiery aggression can be smothered by a wet douse

As she swung both blades

Bitter, battered clanks against shields of the enemy front. 

None of the villagers believed she can ever be defeated,

And placed a lasting belief she is the destiny defender of the lands. 

As time goes by more wars broke, were fought and came victorious,

But Girl grew weaker each day.

Both swords were slowly cutting away into her,

Stabbing into her bones and bleeding her veins,

But she had the strength to carry out a will to succeed. 

And so one night, the dragon of the twin swords spoke to her in her sleep.

There was the third sword presented and raised at her to receive, 

This one capable of carrying the weight of both swords

And puts all pain into faith, and cruelty into compassion.

So now the spirit of the twin grew larger than before,

Girl no longer had to suffer anymore because the third sword

Was the lost love and grace that the twin wanted to restore.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander, or Vania (me). Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities).

A Thousand Cuts

Wounds open, blood splats across the floor as if water

As though the body was now marshmallow and

Cuts were only softened to pain, mellow must not be felt.

How does it feel when you’ve worked so hard,

Gave it all and everything else

But failed at your job.

In a day’s letter for you to sign by office time,

You had to verify your failure with the heart

Nipped into a thousand cuts by your signature hand.

Binding it right into a buried shame.

So I went home, gashed my fingers open with scissors,

Fingers that held that mouse with that click a submit.

Where blood ran as though forever

Leaking onto anywhere it could land.

And then there it was, those open wounds

That could only wait for time not to repeat again.

Months away from August, countdown to resignation.

1, 2, 3, cold faces of corporate protocol will rework

Rewire old clocks with the bureau of compliance.

What is competence?

A sad place to be like everybody else,

To please a straight serve to get approved.

I look at the red under the skin which oozes on pressure,

Pressure which is set to burst the emergency bags of O+ and bad emails.

Is this the heyday death by a thousand cuts?

Adhere work for improvement,

To improve on superb work, for what?

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities).

Cool Girls Cry Too

Tears and fears, by minute or years,

Might be the cool girl’s will and power,

In delving for hope in struggle.

There was this girl who knew she had not been loved,

Felt like the world gave her away,

Her removal, banded and planned in foray

By Her quiet reserve,

An obvious genre of abandonment.

A missing forever in the hearts of men.

A fire burns out of her gaze as she looks out upon emptiness.

Having a “cool” poised strength and independence.

Living life’s trivialities didn’t bother her,

And true love was unimportant.

Cool girl was supposed to smile as though

The sun, moon and stars collided

And lifted her to supreme.

As though luck and the entire universe conspired,

And made her the impossible deity

Capable of doing and undoing the impossible.

Cool girl never kept her cool at all times,

To be every while the great ineffable,

Chain-crying, if turned.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.

Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Like the ghost walking the empty road,

The long boulevard of broken dreams.

Where sometimes it wants to be seen,

The ghostly existence thins, fades into translucence.

Lighter and lighter by the silhouette,

Soon it’s shade mistaken for nothing.

Longing for a voice to let all hear the ghost,

Only multiple footsteps thudding the pavements,

But no one can hear ghost talk.

A former writer never famous, rich or loved,

This ghost had a dream.

It writes with the madness of passion and forlorn,

A convincing statement for a conviction,

Though efforts punctured into dust.

So ghost walks the street boulevard of broken dreams,

Lost into the night,

And forgotten by time.

- Vander

Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.