"Quitting"
a haiku by Michael Sherrillo
I have failed myself.
Not in my ability;
but in my desire.
Tuesday, April 30, 2002
"A Spring Breeze"
a letter of love, by Michael Sherrillo
I hear your voice in the wind. As
I walk, I imagine I see you, and for
a moment, before my mind reminds
me that this is a wonderful illusion,
my heart races, as your name fires
through my mind and catches on
my lips like a bullet fired from it's barrel.
You, like true loves ghost, hover so
taintalizingly close. I reach out my arm,
hoping to touch merely the hem of your
skirt, so that for one brillant moment I
find that for which I have searched for in
day and dream... love.
I cannot pretend that I deserve even a
glance, for the beauty i see therin is
more than my mortal heart could stand.
All I long for is to love you, for asking for
such an awsome thing as to be loved
in return I may not deserve.
I never expected, never let myself hope,
that in my reach, my humble desire, you
would fall into my arms, as a piece of me
died, so that it could always remian in the
total happiness of that first embrace.
I still remember the days, seemingly so
far away, in which I would float, just watching
you soaring off the ground into the sky, both
powerful and graceful, a hawk that would float
in the air, suspended in time, and then, softly,
come down. I used to lose myself in you then
as compleatly as I lose myself now in your
every word, your touch, your glance. But,
somehow, by losing myself I have also found
something which is far greater, something
which I hope to someday call Love.
a letter of love, by Michael Sherrillo
I hear your voice in the wind. As
I walk, I imagine I see you, and for
a moment, before my mind reminds
me that this is a wonderful illusion,
my heart races, as your name fires
through my mind and catches on
my lips like a bullet fired from it's barrel.
You, like true loves ghost, hover so
taintalizingly close. I reach out my arm,
hoping to touch merely the hem of your
skirt, so that for one brillant moment I
find that for which I have searched for in
day and dream... love.
I cannot pretend that I deserve even a
glance, for the beauty i see therin is
more than my mortal heart could stand.
All I long for is to love you, for asking for
such an awsome thing as to be loved
in return I may not deserve.
I never expected, never let myself hope,
that in my reach, my humble desire, you
would fall into my arms, as a piece of me
died, so that it could always remian in the
total happiness of that first embrace.
I still remember the days, seemingly so
far away, in which I would float, just watching
you soaring off the ground into the sky, both
powerful and graceful, a hawk that would float
in the air, suspended in time, and then, softly,
come down. I used to lose myself in you then
as compleatly as I lose myself now in your
every word, your touch, your glance. But,
somehow, by losing myself I have also found
something which is far greater, something
which I hope to someday call Love.
"Love's Breeze"
a poem by Michael Sherrillo
Your name blows across me,
Like a warm gentle wind.
I have been pierced,
You, so like a golden arrow,
Have cut through the exterior persona
Of how I am portrayed.
The falseness, which I surround myself in.
Your pointed shaft has darted though me.
And touched a part of my life, my heart,
Which I was afraid would never be found,
And of which I had begun to doubt existed.
I see you, and I see not a person,
I see an angel, floating above me.
One who has gathered the sun in her lips,
The moon in her eyes,
And the eternal joy of youth in her laugh.
And you sit in the sky, archer of love,
Holding in your hands my fate.
For like a fine musician, you have taken this old
Harp, and from it, beautiful music now floods.
The strings of my heart now play,
The song of your name.
Not because of any skill in the instrument,
For it is just an empty vessel.
But because of you, and all which you are,
You've filled me until I overflow
The feelings, which you evoke, spill out into prose and onto page.
But I flood without worry of ever being empty again.
Not after having met, an angel like you.
a poem by Michael Sherrillo
Your name blows across me,
Like a warm gentle wind.
I have been pierced,
You, so like a golden arrow,
Have cut through the exterior persona
Of how I am portrayed.
The falseness, which I surround myself in.
Your pointed shaft has darted though me.
And touched a part of my life, my heart,
Which I was afraid would never be found,
And of which I had begun to doubt existed.
I see you, and I see not a person,
I see an angel, floating above me.
One who has gathered the sun in her lips,
The moon in her eyes,
And the eternal joy of youth in her laugh.
And you sit in the sky, archer of love,
Holding in your hands my fate.
For like a fine musician, you have taken this old
Harp, and from it, beautiful music now floods.
The strings of my heart now play,
The song of your name.
Not because of any skill in the instrument,
For it is just an empty vessel.
But because of you, and all which you are,
You've filled me until I overflow
The feelings, which you evoke, spill out into prose and onto page.
But I flood without worry of ever being empty again.
Not after having met, an angel like you.
Tuesday, April 23, 2002
Sunday, April 21, 2002
Saturday, April 20, 2002
Thursday, April 18, 2002
"From Afar"
A stream of consciousness by Vance Tran
I glance and there she is.
Amongst the deteriorating buildings
and litter riddled lawn, she stands out.
She is not like the others, I can sense it.
Her spirit is good and pure, fiery and true.
Her beauty is unique, with subtle strands
of hair framing her face, hiding her demure smile.
The sunlight surrounds and protects her from the rabble.
But, I am foolish to feel this way.
She cannot possibly begin to look at me
and feel the way I feel about her.
I am just me, not deserving, invisible.
Besides, I have done this many a time,
elevating mere strangers to saints in my mind.
She is not special in any way, I conclude.
So, I quickly look away and tell myself not to feel.
With a sigh, I walk away, and try to shrug off the grief. -
A stream of consciousness by Vance Tran
I glance and there she is.
Amongst the deteriorating buildings
and litter riddled lawn, she stands out.
She is not like the others, I can sense it.
Her spirit is good and pure, fiery and true.
Her beauty is unique, with subtle strands
of hair framing her face, hiding her demure smile.
The sunlight surrounds and protects her from the rabble.
But, I am foolish to feel this way.
She cannot possibly begin to look at me
and feel the way I feel about her.
I am just me, not deserving, invisible.
Besides, I have done this many a time,
elevating mere strangers to saints in my mind.
She is not special in any way, I conclude.
So, I quickly look away and tell myself not to feel.
With a sigh, I walk away, and try to shrug off the grief. -
Wednesday, April 17, 2002
Tuesday, April 16, 2002
Monday, April 15, 2002
"Leaves"
by Michael Sherrillo
In green youth we each hold fast,
To the trunk of our family tree.
Then, when grown, we all fall off,
And each of us is tossed and turned,
As we are all cast our seperate ways.
Each leaf comes to a place of rest,
Some close, while others still far away.
And sitting, we age, turn brittle and brown.
But the winds of time continue to blow,
Leaving none of us unchanged.
And now, we fly again, as dust,
And in that wind, find each other the same.
by Michael Sherrillo
In green youth we each hold fast,
To the trunk of our family tree.
Then, when grown, we all fall off,
And each of us is tossed and turned,
As we are all cast our seperate ways.
Each leaf comes to a place of rest,
Some close, while others still far away.
And sitting, we age, turn brittle and brown.
But the winds of time continue to blow,
Leaving none of us unchanged.
And now, we fly again, as dust,
And in that wind, find each other the same.
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