Michael Matsuda Poems

The blank white washed wall. Covered in posters, it looks a little more elaborate than before. Consequently, it appears more appealing but no matter how hard you try to hide the wall with paper, beneath it is still that sad stale plain wall.

Sometimes, if you fixate your eyes to that wall in the pitch black of the darkened room only set aglow by the computer monitor, you can see it become animated. The wall starts to move inward, shapes are formed by the uneven coating of paint that move with life. However, everyone else will look at this wall and see nothing.
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I am from the Shadows.
I am from the dark womb.
I am a silhouette from the sonigram,
Quiet but moving and forming contemplations.
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Dismay, disarray;
Marionette, let me make you who you are today
Put on that schizophrenic mask, smile and play
These phantom limbs and phantom thoughts
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Perfection is not instant
Remember that perfection is a process of trial and errors!
There are no shortcuts in time so go the distance.
But do not stray from the path like fool's gold I'll compare!
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Air:
Simplistic features.
Breathing puts life in your soul.
God's intrinsic gift.
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Time, just like water, flows in only one direction.
The current of time is the strongest, no matter how strong your affection
for memories you cling, they are like rocks you set at the bottom of the river.
The are not going move as the current moves you.
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rain.
The God's cry their awful cry and the sadness falls to the Earth.
Such gray skies gives a sign that the God's are not happy.
They blow their breaths and create the trade winds.
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Axial rotational ride
Too beautiful to let yourself hide
Such short time on this lush green roller coaster
We can't spare clocks on braggers and boasters
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I have become accustom to the clouds

The deity that holds me away leaves me thinking out loud
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A feeling too little too late

For by this time I'll be leaving in a nearby date
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