YAOYAN HUANG

Touch

Maddening,

Just a small touch,

Makes my hand burn.

Everything else is forgotten.

Leave my dreams

Or better yet, kiss me-

But you never will.

Even dreams bear semblance to reality.

Elegy

Fragrant flowers flaunt about

The dead and rotting flesh,

Upon the burrows of the trees

An offering for the dead.

And songbirds sing upon the ashes

And songbirds sing upon the ashes

Melancholy Sadness

Fall again,

Under the spring rain,

Nostalgia

Beneath the umbrella.

Winter

A lone flower

Swaying in the wind.

The field is dusted with sugar.

She misses the sweet voice of the songbirds

Who had left to escape the winter chill,

And wishes she too

Had a voice to sing.

Ghosts of the Past

At night I lay awake

With a shadow by my side.

When I close my eyes

I can almost hear your whispers

Lulling me to sleep

And almost feel your warm

Embrace.

When I open my eyes

I am alone

again.