Hung Sun

Who are we

To determine what’s to be 

Illuminated in the world that 

God built.

A world that, prior to humans,

Did not exist in straight lines.

Then manufacturing false glow

To bring to life that which

We built.

Maybe these artificial structures

And imitated rays

Hinder us from realizing the beauty

In the imperfect world

She built.

Blink

You’ll miss it if you do.

You’ll miss it if you don’t,

But only when it’s gone.

What you leave behind

Propels the people

Who look up to you

To do more

Than you ever could, 

But only if they realize

That time steady ticks.

One day the thing

You love the most

Will cease to exist, so

When that moment comes, 

And all is said and done,

What will you’ve said and done?

4 a.m.

Bone-chilling silence fills

The spaces between

Stumbling socialites 

And dawn-risers.

My mind is somewhere

In between.

Doubtful of what the future

Holds, or what tomorrow

Will bring. 

I sit and wait

Until I realize that

Tomorrow has become today. 

Head To Heel

Head to heel,

dressed in daring daisies

On flowing vanilla silk.

You are beauty.

You who defends your culture.

Go forth, Nala, Queen

Who protects her cubs.

Never before could such fierce

Strength move with your

Grace.

And.

Beauty.

You can bump Solange,

So long as you bring me with. 

Your Local Chapter of the Insomniacs Club

To midnight errand-runners,

Zombie strollers,

And sufferers of restlessness:

Welcome to your local chapter

Of the Insomniacs Club.

We are docile doers and donters 

That believe a good night’s sleep

Is a good night wasted.

Rule number one: 

When you see a fellow member,

Be sure to wave.

We may think we’re alone,

But it’s nice to know we’re not.

Rule number two: Safely stroll.

Contrary to common belief, 

We are not left to our own devices;

so, if you see a member in trouble

Help them along.

Lastly, rule number three: 

Remember that subtlety is key.

Do not disturb the undisturbed,

for it’s by their grace

Our chapters exist.

So slip silently back into bed;

Dawn is coming and 

Soon The Others will wake. 

Good Night, Mr. Cronkite

A sandman settling

An assortment of statements

And facts.

Straight-forward headlines

That assures us

Of the pulse 

Of the world.

We’re desperate, Mr. Cronkite.

You held us people together,

But now we are coming 

Unglued, and are drifting

Further and further 

From reality. 

A Stark Contrast

Approach each of your last

Moments with the curiosity

You approached your first.

It’s a shame that now

Your eyes are as wide as ever,

Yet they see naught.

Your ears more open, 

Yet they hear naught. 

The concept you represent

Has now surpassed your

Actual physical form. 

It is time for you to go,

Unto a place of higher hopes.

I love you.

I’ll miss you. 

We’ll need you.

Goodbye and good luck,

Good boy.

Exploration of a Dichotomy

Why is it that

The closer we live to 

One another

The more alone

And disconnected 

We feel?

Many hours we spend

Looking at our feet.

But even if

We were to crane 

Our necks to look

To the moon, 

Stars and

Great beyond,

We see nothing,

And worse,

Wonder nothing.

It’s only when

We distance ourselves

 From the rest 

Of society

That we might 

Truly wonder and

Understand the size

Of life and our

Cosmic insignificance.

But try.

Try.

Try, you must. 

It will all fall into place.

And be ready to ask not “what,”

But “where?”