Here's a poem dedicated to my elder brother. All my life, I've looked up to him, even in his darkest hour. He's always been a role model for me, even when drugs got into play. Out of my four brothers, he's the only one I've always been able to identify myself with. The others are sports and popular. They have ambition and will most likely become big shots, all three of them. The eldest, on the other hand, I'll always remember him for what he did, not what he was. He did things just to challenge himself, not giving a s**t if it was right or wrong. I followed because I'm the same, I don't do things out of principle or morality, I do it out of curiosity. It's funny how the one I've always looked up to used to be a hacker, a pot head and a drug dealer. He gave up school even though he was accepted in college, but he's still making it. He lost his job as my dad's assistant recently because of the recession, but he's still there and he's not giving up, so this is for him because he's just that awesome and people like him deserve much more recognition than any big shot. He's also the one I have to thank for getting me into computers, hacking, reading, drawing and all the other things I like. Whenever I feel down or like I won't make it, I think about him, because he's always got a solution. I guess me and him are the disappointments of the family... When the my grandma asked me what I wanted to do later in life, my dad interrupted me and said I either wanted to be an engineer or a professor. When I said I might take art lessons to compliment my game design portfolio last winter, my mom said "Well, go see the orientation lady at school and ask her what drugs you should take to become good at it." Since then, I've stopped trying to meet their expectations. They're farking mistaken if they think I'll be the one taking care of them when they're old and toothless.
Bro
Let me tell you a story,
The stock broker and the nurse,
Had five children.
One became a doctor,
Another an actor.
The youngest, all could see,
Had potential.
A con artist,
Or a CEO,
Either way,
He'd be rich,
Care for the folks when they were on Death's list.
The elder, on the other hand,
Gave up when he still had a chance.
He grabbed the Devil by the horns,
Screwed life over,
And in the end,
Remained true to himself.
Took the path less taken,
Did it the hard way,
But I saw him rising,
Always saw him as a king.
The third of the group,
The black sheep of the herd,
Had the smarts,
The grades and the interest.
He had potential.
But "Fuck it.", he said,
He wanted to be an artist,
An author,
Or maybe a game designer.
So here I am,
Thinking back on my life,
No regrets,
I won't lie,
I looked up to the eldest,
Followed in his footsteps.
So when I die,
I'll thank one person,
And one only.
Not you, Dad,
Your dreams weren't mine.
I'll thank you, bro,
For all you've showed me,
All you've taught me.
Remember that time,
When they redid the street?
All we needed,
Was a wrench,
And a sharpie.
Cut the neighbor's water,
Write on the bulldozer.
Those were the times,
We had a good time.
And for those times,
I thank you, Brother.
This is a poem about how I feel whenever someone asks me why I don't care about what others think of me. Believe it or not, I get that often from more sociable people around me. I guess the important thing these days is to be loved by everybody. (Also, slightly dramatized; I don't bother with others, so I wouldn't take my precious time to make them cry.)
Unwanted Love
Why is it,
That I must be loved?
You ask me to try,
Yet I cannot lie,
I don't really care,
So why?
I never asked,
Never demanded,
Never even tried.
But in the end,
It always comes.
See me for who I am,
For what I really am.
I never claimed to be a good person,
So don't ask me why,
When I make you cry.
Once again, one of my two minute poems :roll:
EDIT: Forgot to mention one detail. That poem, especially the last paragraph, only applies to people I don't know, those I cross on the streets and go to school with and whatnot. If I were to meet one of you, you'd probably meet the nice me. :-P
Sermon of the Anarchist
I won't give up, whatever the opposition may be.
Even if it's an army, I'll find a way
Because I don't fight for myself and I'm not alone.
I dream of a brighter tomorrow
And of days seldom filled with sorrow.
Of hollow streets where resounds the echo
Of my footsteps towards that new morrow.
I dream of cities in ruin
And of skies of sunlight bleeding.
The ashes of my time settle
And rise again with my footsteps
As I walk through the starlit valley of death.
Until my knees break down
And in my blood I drown,
I'll fight for tomorrow
My heart filled with sorrow.
I thought it was time to feed you guys more of my s**tty poetry! This one was inspired by a friend of mine. He's an anarchist and also one of those people that I can call a true friend. Those italicized words at the beginning are quoted from him.
Matsogi
Courtesy
Integrity
Perseverance
Self-Control
Indomitable Spirit
I shall observe the tenets of Taekwon-Do.
I shall respect my instructors and seniors.
I shall never misuse Taekwon-Do.
I shall be a champion of freedom and justice.
I shall build a more peaceful world.
Rivers of blood,
Pain, sweat and tears.
I crossed them all,
Seldom with fear.
I have lost everything
But still kept on fighting.
Now I must face my doom
In this dark dim-lit room.
My hands have been broken
By years of harsh training.
Yet still they cannot fight,
Even with all their might,
Death, in this darkened room.
In memory of Grand Master Trân Trięu Quân
3/26/1952 - 1/12/2010
RIP
I learned today that my Taekwon-Do instructor died in the Haiti earthquake while on a business trip. His body was found today in the hotel where he stayed after a long search. His room number and floor were given by his partner who was staying in the same hotel and is now at a hospital in Montreal. He was the President of the International Taekwon-Do Federation for the past 8 years, succeeding the founder, General Choi who passed away in 2002. His life wasn't easy; born in Vietnam, he lost a brother during a bombing in the War and later his parents and four of his siblings (He had nine in total) were lost at sea nine years later. He was later imprisoned and had to survive the brutal prisons of Vietnam where he was chained 14 hours a day and had to fight other inmates just to live another day. It was a life sentence but luckily enough, pressure from Canada got him freed. He said himself that he owed his survival to Taekwon-Do in an interview. He learned the art from Lieutenant-Colonel Kim Bong Sik and became a black belt at 17, forty years ago. I didn't only hear the news as a former ITF practitioner, but also as one of his students; he's the one who brought Taekwon-Do to Quebec and he took over our club when the instructor who was in charge at the time had to leave. He was there at every competition and was the one who did the opening and closing ceremonies. To us he wasn't just a man, nor a mentor, but also an ideal, something to look up to and say "One day I'll be like him." He was not only a powerful fighter, but he was also an example for all of us, an incarnation of the five tenets and a man of great wisdom. He trained his entire life and cheated death many times, but in the end, he died without a fighting chance. So I dedicate this to him and to his life's work. May he rest in peace.
PS: The italicized text are the five tenets of Taekwon-Do followed by the oath, they're words every practitioner speaks at the beginning of a class. They're more than rules, they become a way of life. Matsogi is the name of the competition team of our club, those who were in it were trained specially for competitions and we followed an additional course that was taught by the club's instructor. It means "Combatant" in Korean.