The Fisherman
I hate the way you treat me
First tenderness, bright eyes of blue clear sky,
Dragged me out of my misery
Hearing your voice, my appetite's sicken and die

I crave nothing but the prize
Beg, no steal, nor borrow
Crystallized in your lies,
I left the nets and follow.

Baptized my body because of the siren
Thinking this would be different
But turns out you're indifferent

You left, me drown, in your current love
How can I breathe again,
When you're the only one I think of?
Is it love or disdain?

I hate the way you beat me
With bitterness, stormy stares of knife,
I found no remedy
But to end this life

With you, it could be paradise
Yet a lost one for sure
I see and realize
This sea leads to torture

Covering my ears and swim away
A fisherman knows his home this way
Back to the work, pack for the game
The fisher king I'll be someday.

Agamemnon
forgive me please for not wave back and smile
even 'hi' could or would have gone my breath
'tis my Agamemnon back from exile
Storm in the palace that'd announce my death

I thought I had escaped but I was not
Pretty, do you think you are? His words hung
On me like a chain tied with a knot
Dead weight overruled the work of my lung

How come your paper presence stares me down
Slandering my name with the wit of mine
Is my heel love, hate or the crave for crown?
When could the brave pour and cut you off line

When next the pair meet eyes in life’s cruel spin,
I’ll see the peace crowding where clouds had been

Checkmate
Why does it even linger when already over?
Having your torn-out, messed-up pieces laying there,
on my heart sleeve reveal my insecurities—
could your young, fleeing queen breathe out checkmate with ease?

My dear tall king, have I ever been yours truly?
Am I your product of pride or proclaimed folly?
My mirror demands the answer, yet there’s nothing.
Even Da Vinci cannot decode what’s missing.

Turning to the knight who brings me land and comfort,
finally, I found my ending ever after.
Though I still find you on my bed,
they’re just shadows I can’t see when sunshine’s spread.

Only dark nights like this would I ever recall:
there is a daunting, cunning man — a king I call.