Commonwealth EssayI got dumped in Advanced Chinese. It's a good thing I dropped Literature or I'd be buried in a pile of language-related readings right now.
Dear --,Dear -----------, I sit on the bus in careful repose, inhaling deeply as the scenery of P. passes me by. The zephyrs whisper playful messages in my ear; wisps of sound, leftover fragments of sentences, words discarded or lost by their careless users. To my senses, the messages are as a cacophony of sound ringing lightly in my ears and mind, each word a precious gem. The aftertaste, sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter, occasionally even spicy – like with “angst” and “hate” – lingers long on my palate as I mouth each and every word, silently, to myself. Then I hear “love”, and my thoDear --,
Nothing to a SmileWhat do they call a smile?Nothing to a Smile
A mere parting of the lips Flash of crooked, yellowed teeth Perhaps with braces.
What is there to a smile?
Part of the lips Glint of the eyes (sometimes not present) Maybe, her soul touching yours for an instant
Why do they smile?
For love or money For happiness or spite Sometimes, to conceal the darkness within (but not quite)
How do I smile?
Part your lips, dear Show the teeth. Put the twinkle in your eye
I can’t do it. I don’t feel it.
Ther
The BrideWide, innocent eyes gazed out into the distance, seeming not to see the trees, or the clouds, or even the sunrise, but through them into something infinitely more profound and wonderful. That was the way it often was with Laurentia, and perhaps that would always be the way. She brushed a curl of silver-blond hair away from her pale face. Her mother had told her she looked like a marble statue – at least until she died. Then her aunt had continued it, adding on the remark that she was as cold as ice, to boot. Perhaps that was the case. At any rate, Laurentia had never said anything in protest, finding idle chatterThe Bride
At the Kranji War MemorialAbove us the skies grow bleak, and we think We hear the sound of guns; catch the stench of fear; See the telltale rust of bloodAt the Kranji War Memorial
Amid the noise of cannonfire Children cry from hunger pains And men and women alike wail for their dead
Yet the 'villian' does not laugh, for Back home there is gunfire also -
Screams, and the steady drip-drip-drip of tears
The 'flowers' of war bloom, suddenly voices rise: "Hallelujah - Glory to The bearers of the Crucifix."
What's Become of UsHello, my Darling:What's Become of Us
Two years ago, it would never have occurred to me that we could be in a situation where I would not purposefully cross the street just to say, "Hello." There are some people, you see, whose presence you take for granted--whose friendship and love you assume, always assume, will be available and of interest. But today, while I was busy juggling the mail and looking for my keys, I watched you come out of the coffee shop and walk right past me--and I let you go. It wasn't conscious, it was simply that I had other things on my mind. For the first time in forever--in our f
Scherzando
Tired
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*WordCount : Prose Exposure
-Ark
(I take it you approved of the grammar.
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*WordCount : Prose Exposure
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Ralph.
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Ayrian
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