Hope

Is Hope only for the chosen?

Where there is a chosen few.

Does Hope desire its lot inasmuch as hope is the mass of wants?

If the wise man tells you there is hope for the hopeless,

Is it a hideous lie you must not deceive yourself?

For many thought hope has only sought out its privileged ones.

Still so many live by not another hopeful day,

Never hoping or realising hope comes true,

Even when their joy giving to others is the reason.

-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.

Humans On Sale

The economist knows

Every human will be on sale, 

A particular value placed in the tiered order of society.

Some humans are sold at a higher price than others wherein the tag differs,

But nonetheless the sale will be done and exacted in harmony.

For the human to earn his freedom, the submission is himself as commodity.

The human has to be sold to the sale and offer the conditions of such to his buyer,

Within his competent capacity and bitterness of consent.

At the end of the day, the human will not want the life of a human.

His sale continues to follow into another sale in preparation of his future to be sold, 

Yet another conniving disarray of his fated condemnation.

One day the human actor won’t even know that he is no longer human, 

He becomes an artificial object of objectifications,

Owning lies and distorted perceptions.

A burgeoning economy of humans bought over.

-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.

The Meek Powerless

The Meek Powerless is a dignified, reserved bird.

It shies from the big birds and cowers its face,

But its spirit no matter how little glows in brilliance day after day.

It roams free but enter not some forests,

Pulsating into another block of heartland every few minutes.

Powerless in following a flock of similar vulnerable birds,

The grace of unity offers refuge and trust over the flight beyond.

-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.

I Will Be Your Sword

If a sword is hidden in me,

It would be yours to wield and shield.

Yours to keep and stay,

The sword of a thousand swords,

Cauterized into my bone.

When rot can crumble,

I am the strength of your unfaltering faith.

Can it be true that if one becomes a sword for others,

He will perish with that very sword.

In becoming one and none with it.

Can it be true there is only agony in anguish, 

When one gives himself up to be a sword for others,

To only live in the essence of servitude.

Sword is the seam holding a man,

A wonder in almost bursting esteem, 

Battling while gilding the glimmer of gold.

Could you be punished awake and asleep,

The soldiering sword serving defence and offence,

In a cyclic barrel of enmity.

The impressive disease of hero.

I will be your sword, yours alone to take.

Even when you do not carry, not tired from the weary.

-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.

Lady On The Fire

The lady breathes hell out of a fire,

Don’t fiddle with her smile,

You won’t know what temper divides her fire.

Believe them when they say,

This lady has been through hell and back,

Fury she carried slaughters around her neck

Burnt and vanished long before they thought

Her plight is a bottomless pain.

Careful now what you would say to this lady,

For she is lady on the fire,

Queen to the House of Targaryen.

-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.

The Bullied Never Before Girl

She is never before, a heard girl. 

Did she try? Cowering before others.

Her bullied demons can nowhere near her nightmares,

Shortcomings are common sense.

She had never done many things the people of her age did before, 

As full-time runaway from mean mates. 

Nobody helped her when she needed so

Her emotions, actions, and speeches are primordial,

But sincere and real. 

She lived life envying others who had friends,

Who loved them as they were.

Other kids had fun and if they don’t,

They were still there for each other.

In her loneliness, only the elemental properties were her best friend,

Objects that listened.

-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.

The Depressed Bee

The depressed bee buzzes in silence. 

It works hard but never succeeds.

When a group of bees swarm together,

They depart away from the depressed bee.

The depressed bee can never seem to understand the world,

It does not need the depressed bee.

How many times the bee apologizes for being depressed,

Taking up the precious time of her vibrant, industrious friends,

Extending their impatience and boredom. 

The bee dwells in its cave of solitude and buries deep, 

Seeing and feeling everything and nothing of a thing,

Anticipating the redux of the same next day.

Peering at other bees’ gaieties, 

This bee knew she did not really have a life so rich.

When being real is difficult to be for a bee,

Bee endeavors the surreal indeed.

Alone it encroaches into unfamiliar territory,

Loathing the diplomatic cat adored by neighborhood strangers,

Bee cannot compete.

By nightfall, the new sight of darkness sinks in,

The depressed bee forgets about the honey,

And attempts Beethoven’s Pathetique.

-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.