At Noon

Illness - a degeneration of the mind
Silently aching away in the depths of your pulsing organ
Alas! Your heart feels the pain -
When your eyes misbehave - blurring away into oblivion
You wait in vain for a cure
Over the New Year,
Under the apricot tree, you laugh weakly.

De Zhong

Dellusion

The irony so bitter -
The sweet rose growing alongside a weed
The stagnant picture burns a deep hole in the memory
of someone long dead.

The deception so bright -
The sweet rose being a fading picture
The truth being seen only in the other window
of someone far away, a shadow.

The grief so slight -
The sweet rose growing towards a glowing Sun
The moon neglected as always
The rose hides away in night.

The sweet rose -
the scent sweet
beckoning across a window.

De Zhong

Winter Solace

I feel cold.
Wrapped in a foreign sweater, I am stifled by the stench
of my own life
Stares and glares and the turning of the hair
I watch - contemplative
I voice out silent words
"Sorry" No one hears it -
and yet they accept it with a subtle
Turning of the eyes
They stare
they look away
They move as if repelled
repelled by the insanity
The inconsistent
shifting of the eyes
the stutter
the stare
the weak - feeble
attempt to smile! A glare returned
It is hard, is it not
Smile, dear boy
as you walk out of the door
To face the world.
Alone.

De Zhong

The Gift

Giving me a little bit of
Angelic melody
Ringing and pulsing through my ears
Yes - a delightful melody
Giving me a little bit of
Ornamental flavorings to this wretched life
Happiness ensues
Happiness ensures that
On this very day
Never forgetting this
Gift of love
My treasure
I will treasure it
Never forgetting this and
Giving back a sweet thank you.

De Zhong