the

The Incredible Machine

A dawn of advance
The world was ready,
The people weren't
And their children heaved through years of framework,
It was progress...

 

Alas the good deeds
People found new needs,
They set out to reach
The things they would teach...

 

A night to recall
The battle was won,
The war neverending
Upon it they weaved a special network,
It was useless...

 

A spun web of fate
Of gaiety and hate,
Forgotten the days,
Of the mortal ways...

 

An eclipse of minds
Oiled engines and souls,
Young, riotous rage
And they wanted blood for joy and fireworks,
Evolution...

The Beast Inside...

The beast inside…

© 2017 SachikoMochiko " Sachi Ruaya

 

What’s worse than killing someone? Leaving them suffering alive. Now, whether or not they suffer is up to them…

 

Cracks…that’s how the light comes in.

 

You found that someone,

Who you deem; is the last piece of you

O’ but that one…that other one just "

How long will your grip hold?

 

 

It’s a dark feeling; jealousy

Where green, grey and black swirls weave your heart

Like steel, poison ivy 

 

 

As your blood curdles and boils,

your red-laced eyes eyeball

That one who touched your precious

 

 

Your precious gem that you admire from afar.

Your precious one, who births a hazy warm chest.

Your precious half…the other fading half of you.

 

 

But you refrain from killing

And instead of making arrangements to prey,

You keep that one alive  but suffering from your fangs

 

Your inner beast lurks inside,

already devoured half of you and yourself.

Its true form will not feast unless you do

 

 

Your fangs…its fangs bite, drawing thick, oozy blood

Of the one you hold captive in your prison

All for that one precious one, you shed blood

 

 

Your bite…your torture…your beast

Is a reflection of the steel, poison ivy

Is a being born from your selfishness…your jealousy

 

 

But you continue to feast even when you know

Know that this beast will soon consume your flesh, Bone-clean

Because pleasure will come from ones’ suffering

 

 

You are blinded by the beast; your scarlet eyes see no more,

the beauty of your precious gem…

BlurryVivid. Pitch-black.

 

 

You have lost sight of your intentions,

And your precious gem’s light is no more

Now, you know: You. Are. Devoured.

 

 

You sit there on the bottom of the beast’s stomach

Living with the pure darkness of your own

Alone. With your crackling, dry heart -unable to love

 

 

After all, you were just blind.

Destined to lurk in darkness.

 

 

Emptiness. Your skin slowly peels off from the dry darkness

Slowly…painfully, in this prison, the veil is ripped

Revealing something undeniably powerful

 

You.

 

 

The bleeding wounds of which the skin is peeled

Thus, shunned the lies and unveils the truth

The truth of you embedded inside -within the beast

 

The light suppresses the dry darkness 

With your passion, memories, joy and love

You slice through the belly…striving for freedom once more!

 

 

Author’s Note: 

 

This is one of the small fragments to ready one of my upcoming masterpiece. I will write more poems like this (having the same motivational force). WORRY is next.



 
 

© 2017 SachikoMochiko

Author's Notes/Comments: 
This is one of the "practice" poems so I can produce a higher quality work for a special someone of mine:)

Gosh...my punctuation is bad. Just like any other poems I post here, it ain't finished. Still more reviewing to be done. But overall, I hope you enjoy XD

=

Jealousy, eh? Just a quick note, any poem I write is nearly always based off of my true feelings and recent events/emotions. 
"I thought it was good but felt it would be better if it was a story...it feels like your using a lot of words which is good but feel it would make an amazing story if it had a bit more body in it... not sure what type of criticism you wanted. I think you would be amazing at writing stories I’m not being negative I agree with what the person below said just think it’s more story like xx" - Simba
"Raw and honest.Outstanding imagery in words and visuals. I can picture you in my head, shouting these words at the person this story is intended for. My only little critique is that there are more than a few harsh words used that I would have replaced with something different. He's not returning your love but you can't force someone to do so. Other than that brilliant as always I look forward to the rest of the story " Thedeus Hobbs

The Endless Cycle...

The Endless Cycle

© 2017 SachikoMochiko

 

 

Every mistake, loss, failure or breakdown…it’s your choice whether or not to suffer from it.

 

 

“I am a human. Just like you and me. I’m young, 13 years of age, but I already feel old. I have learnt that, whatever situation you are in now, it’s temporary. So, enjoy or endure it to the fullest!

 

Whether is another human, your passion or yourself, you fall for it.  This poem I wrote is inspired by both my life and my fellow friends who write with me, sharing their stories. There are many different ways to view this poem. I spent many hours choosing how to structure this and the word choice. I wanted to share this to people who can relate and inspire other writers.”

 

 

 

 

I’m absolutely sick of falling

 

Falling in love and making the same mistake

 

Eaten by jealousy

 

Thinking that it would work 

 

Even when that person who I sought, 

 

Catches another

 

Thinking that they want you

 

Even if the kindness expressed is just…

 

Them.

 

 

Whenever I fall,

 

And no one sought me

 

I fall into a deep, cold abyss

 

Isolating both heart and body

 

From this rotting world

 

Suffocating me and myself

 

From thinking that I will fall again

 

 

But again, I find peace at the bottom…

 

Sitting just above the bedrock of grief 

 

Where your screams of heart break 

 

Is muted by the sea of tears

 

 

 

But I hunger to fall 

 

To seek for another cradle of arms

 

 

After craving for so long

 

I trick myself

 

That my heart has moved on

 

To someone for me

 

But deep, deep down…

 

I know it is just a mask

 

A mask to cover the disheartening pain

 

And to keep me sane

 

As I walk amongst the beings

 

 

 

It’s an endless cycle…

 

 

 

A cycle that is deemed to run my world

 

My kingdom,

 

My psyche,

 

My crust,

 

Like a wheel with a tempting needle 

 

Waiting to cast me to sleep

 

As it wheels me away to again start the cycle

 

 

 

Even if my consciousness is aware 

 

I shrug it off thinking I’m happily a rolling pebble

 

rolling pebble that has been dropped

 

Dropped into a saltwater sea of fish

 

Where plenty of fish swim to escape

 

Escape the rotting world above

 

 

 

I’m a pebble after all

 

I was meant to sink to the bottom

 

Or be split in half by the fish

 

 

But as the hundreds and thousands of centuries

 

Wear me down

 

My calloused, guarded heart cracks open

 

As the pressure of the rotting earth

 

I. Become. The. Diamond.

 

It was not long after,

 

I was extracted from the bedrock of grief

 

HEATED…

 

POLISHED…

 

Until the skin of this pebble

 

Peels like those onion that brought tears to my eyes

 

 

Someone has found the brightest part of me

 

Someone has found my beauty

 

Someone has also fallen…like me

 

In a mere emotion with two sides

Love

&

Hate

 

 

Well, congratulations that someone

 

Because you have found a rare one

 

Only one here on this earth

 

My mere gratitude cannot express…

 

Express how undeniably grateful I am

 

===

The two of us creates another;

 

“I’m absolutely sick of falling”,

 

she said…

 

 

 

-SachikoMochiko

Author's Notes/Comments: 

STILL not quiet finished hehe

Just added a little abstract :) and fixed some grammatical mistakes...

Oh, I also strongly encourage you to share this poem if you enjoyed it!

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The Art of Writing...

The Art of Writing

@SachikoMochiko


 


Writing...
Humanity's engraved history,
on the tips of our fingers,
on the tip of the mind

It's a beautiful art, isn't it?
How someone's soul,
personality,
beliefs,
style,
Is expressed with a language
The art of writing

Of course, I do not
I do not limit
Limit to words...

Body language is the writing of the body
Music is the writing to decorate time
Facial Expression is the art of writing and interpreting...from the crust of a soul
Speech writes the base of language

Writing is not what you just think it is
...
It. Is. Pure. Art.


============


Now reading back on this poem, I have found my reason to write.


 


This thing called Writing. It's woven into our nature. As stated above, I consider things such as body language, facial expression, and music as "writing". 


 


 It's our own mind that limits us. Writing is not limited to words. After all, it is a way to express. Our ability to express is already woven in us from birth (for instance, when we cry, we express from the wails written, by our voice, in the air)...


 


And maybe I am mistaken...


 


When you kick when you were in your mother's womb, you may definitely express and inform something hehe...


 


 So really, it's my nature...our nature...to write.


 


Don't let yourself be the one who limits your potential! - SachikoMochiko :)

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just another quick poem...

Based on Jonathan Chiu's post: "5 Reasons you should write"

See it here: http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/youngteenwriterz/1982150/#comments

Chance

Verse 1:
You can cast your worries on me, babe.

'Cause it's safer in your arms.

This place is our safe haven.

Where do we go from here? 

 

Chorus:

You held the world

At your fingertips.

Yet, I cannot seem

To let you go so easily.

 

Verse 2:

I won't care

As long as

You are here with me.

I smile at the

Thought of us.

 

Bridge:

Let's take this chance

And make it our's.

'Cause you're mine to keep

And I: your's to keep.

 

Last-Chorus:

Let's start from here

Lose the past.

Change our minds.

Take a chance on us.

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A song I wrote about my "dream guy" and I trying to take a chance on each other since our bond is deep/strong and cannot be: 1) broken, 2) ignored, and 3) denied.

Creation of the World

Written by: Alejandra Jimenez & Andrés Sánchez

 

Fable

Creation of the world

 
 

At first, everything was silence. The universe was at peace, and nothing existed but a solitary god, in the form of a wolf. This wolf, the white wolf was on a long slumber, but eventually he woke up. After his awakening he decided that he should create the world. To do this he first created three gods, one for each element of the universe. God of earth, the black rabbit, god of water, a giant water turtle and god of the wind, the ethereal falcon. They lived peacefully before their long work for creating the world. The white wolf demanded the three childish gods his view for the new world. It must be colorful he said, full of life he demanded, it must be big, and there must always be light.

 

The gods got to work with the white wolf’s request for his vision of the perfect world, but there were some problems. The gods unfortunately were childish and had no self control. They didn’t complete the task that the white wolf set them to. They created the world, but in midst of chaos and disaster. Gods were always fighting, thinking who was the most important of them all, creating most of our landscapes and phenomenons. The god of water created the rivers, oceans, and lakes.During a fight the god of wind got mad at the god of water, therefore, he throwed all his anger by creating storms, taking out the peacefulness of still water. The god of earth created the land, while in another fight with god of wind about who gets the more space, he created the mountains, trying to build up even more, overshadowing god of wind.

 

There were also other factors that contributed, the gods had very particular personalities. The god of water didn’t like fighting that much, so he decided he shall leave so he could be in peace somewhere else, his presence kept flowing all oceans, rivers, and lakes. But by leaving a part of the Earth turned into ice, and that’s how it was created. God of wind had very changing personalities, depending on the day, so he created the seasons, when he was angry and didn’t feel anything he created winter, cold as his personality.

 

All their actions destroyed the peace that the wolf, the god of gods had been living in, and he was tired of hearing the same problems and issues all over again, just from them three. After this, he decided more people was needed for distraction, so he created human beings, giving them things to exist and develop. Watching their arguments and events they were going through was more entertaining for the god of gods. Creating new ones every time others ceased to exist.

 

 
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Digging Up Sunshine

Folder: 
Personal Favorites

The lasers of rage and justice
need not be armed on demand
a deep breath is a wise, serendipitous act

 

Staring into sultry, swooned eyes
convincing a placid moon
to rest the tides
it's OK to indulge the mind
and just stare euphorically at the bizarre sunshine

 

There's resolve in reflection
with blissful malaise
embracing certain simplistic truths

 

Despite the repetitive doldrums

and limited experiences on this globe
something beautiful exists in soul mines

something only serenity can find

within a sort of internal, whimsical lobe

 

An extravagant core
able to be polished
at the epicenter of all the surrounding grime
taking true character, courage, and diligence to discover

 

especially when unearthing said luster of others  

 

but the rewards are all the sweeter
and the gains are wholly sublime

Author's Notes/Comments: 

2013

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The Start of a New Day

When does morning start?

When a creature awakes,

Or when the sun rises?

Yea, the morning is

When a creature awakes

To find it starting anew

In the world dominated

By mortal souls.

 

The human wakes up

First by opening its eyes,

Then stretching its muscles

And sitting up in a position

To retreat from the bed

That held it prisoner 

During the long, dark night.

 

Out of bed it goes

Attending its normal

Robotic morning routine

Whilst thinking of the future,

Of what the day holds,

And how the day will go.

Either gleefully or woefully

Does the human think of this

For not all mornings 

Are filled with happiness and glee.

 

Fearful not is the human

Who takes things as they go

Wave by wave.

Wave by wave harassing it,

Wave by wave attacking it,

Wave by wave saddening it,

Wave by wave entertaining it,

Wave by wave knocking it down.

Each wave the human does take

Accepting each as a challenge,

As an opponent, an obstacle,

And one that must be rid of.

Defeat is not in its dictionary,

For there is no defeat

If one can rise again,

And face the same challenge

To only be victorious.

 

The human does not give up,

It does not ponder on the past,

But it rises from its ashes - 

Waking up to start anew

In a world dominated

By mortal souls.

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thrown under the bus

nowadays all she does is whine about her bodily pains,

but when you were left alone, 

she stayed drunk, prowling the bars

days on end, 

oblivious to the emotional wreckage left

on your chest, like a hot iron

melted through the tender heart of a 10 year old,

the open wound to the 

skin, 

cauterized shut

too soon,

without even leaving any open flesh

for the pain to be released,

seared closed with the shame, pain, and false pride of generations,

sealed in for years like a safety box of magnets,

pulling you towards anything and everything self-destructive

in a desperate search for some morsel of hope,

that the next christmas dinner might be more than 

knocking on the doors of neighbors, being lucky enough to be

asked in to share a holiday meal, 

and an attempt to be noticed for something other than the burden

you were to her deep and fervent longing for 

the escape, into smoke filled rooms,

that reeked with the heavy, putrid smell of week-old frying grease,

cigarettes, and hairspray, that became one of your main

reasons for going to live with your dad--

other than the day she up and left for california,

a 50 dollar bill to substitute her mac and cheese, dribbled with 

one and a half inches of ashes off a pall mall,

only to be less than reluctantly welcomed by him,

and a stepbrother who most always was 

notably more worthy of better dirtbikes, nicer clothes 

and a much more frequent pat on the back 

for a job well done, 

that most often wasn't.

 

a dollar for him and quarter for you, along with the bottom bunk,

that smelled like pee from all the years he wet the bed,

only ever good enough for sloppy seconds--

and then there was brownie,

poor broken down swayback, with skin infections,

baldspots and degenertive bone disease,

in light of your brother's black stallion stud,

as if the 6 inch scar on the back of your leg wasn't enough 

from your father's drunken rage with a 4 inch hunting knife,

and the glass from the window that left it's souvenir the night he threw you

across the room, all before the age of 14.

 

shit.

i may have shot that horse between the eyes too.

 

 

 

 

11:37 PM 6/26/2013

©

 

 

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Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just a poem about a kid.

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=

 

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