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The empty home and blackened skies

Do not beckon until she dies.

Her conscious mind and wayward heart

Have but one thought – her song, her art.

Is it passion or is it fate?

Or an obsession that won’t abate?

She seeks her muse across land and sea

For that one perfect, thorny tree.

With promises laden on every spine

Of a song that will truly, truly shine,

She throws herself at the largest thorn,

And the dazzling sky begins to mourn.

Her empty nest is on her mind,

As her eyes fail and she goes blind.

The glaring sun fades to blackened skies,

Taunting, beckoning, but she can no longer fly.

As the bittersweet pain spreads like fire,

She blinks back tears to hold her head higher,

And in her death she finds the greatest beauty,

She sings a haunting song of mercy and cruelty.

All love and warmth and glory pales,

All joy and sadness and emotion fails,

For this song’s beauty holds the world in thrall,

And all time freezes except her call;

The final song ever heard,

From the beautiful, dying, lost Thorn Bird.


Again, I’m not much of a poet, but I didn’t feel like writing a long piece so I went for the shortest option. I recently heard of the Celtic legend of the “Thorn Bird”, and I really couldn’t just get it off my mind without writing something. There is truly something artistic in its sad beauty, so I felt a need to respond creatively to it.

For those of you who don’t know, the Thorn Bird sang only once in its life. Upon leaving its nest, would search endlessly for a thorn tree, and after finding it, would impale itself on the largest thorn and sing the most beautiful song in the world. The greatest things in life come from hardship and pain.

I found the idea hauntingly beautiful. What do you guys feel?

P.S. Thorn Bird (Celtic legend) not to be confused with Thorn Bird (Phacellodomus; a real bird).

I was cleaning out my computer when I found a few old poems I wrote as a kid. I’m going to leave them here so I can delete them off my computer; just for laughs and memories. The majority of these were from my last year in primary school to my junior years in high school.

Now, I’ve never been a big fan of poetry, preferring full blown novel-length stories, but I remember a few melodramatic emotions that spurred me into writing some of these. It really reminds me how sensitive a teenager is to his/her environment. These are all really short because – like I said – I wasn’t big on poetry, and I just wanted maximal emotional release in as few words as possible. Don’t get the wrong idea; not all of these are about my misfortune with girls. However, you’re free to interpret them as you like. That’s the beauty of the written language. Sometimes the words are different but the emotions are the same.


Sometimes when I wake, I feel like I’m dreaming,

And somewhere, some place, the real me is screaming.

Sometimes I wonder, if I close my eyes,

Whether or not the real me dies,

And a dream of me awakens on the other side.


A haunting thought,

And wistful wish,

Of a girl I ought,

Not to miss.


She speaks and I freeze.

A hundred words crash around my head.

Quick, say something before she sees!

But there’s so much I want to say,

Like how strongly I feel when I’m with you.

But there’s just no way.

I can’t find the words; I just want to sigh.

Because you don’t even realise what

Goes through my head every time I say “Hi”.


You showed me that love was a rose,

A passionate red that never warns,

But really, to me that just shows,

That nobody sees the thorns.


Sailor, sailor, so star-crossed,

You never told me I was lost.

The ocean’s black sucks all my soul,

Until I no longer know my role.

Now I wander, seeking one who might,

Aid me in my lonely plight.

So tailor, tailor, seam by seam,

Unravel this tangled heart with me.


She smiles, he frowns.

They’re on different pages, but is it the same book?

He talks, she freezes.

There’s something too serious in his look.

She leaves, he waits.

But she doesn’t come back.

Now they’re on the same page, but it’s two different books.

Just two stories that happened to cross paths.

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