All Art, like all Love, has its roots in Heartache.

Solitude
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

I fell in love with you the second I layed eyes on you, it had nothing to do with the way you looked, there was something in your eyes, then I found out what was in your heart.

This blog is dedicated to several people.

Clan LegO
Michele Cheow



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Poetry and major works archive

The Michele Cheow Collection

Fragments Of A Song
And the End
Ocean of Madness
A Millon Pieces
This Night
One Day
Regret
Once Upon A Song

The Musing In Between

A Friend's Lament
Supernova
On A Dish
Green Eyed Monster
Cloud Castle
My Love For You
The Moth And The Candle
The Marble, Brook and Star
Footprints
A Night Of Magic
Imprisoned
Masks
Inspiration
The Songbird And The Maestro
Hydra
Apple
Skylines
Strings
Fragile
If Only You Could See The Geometry

A New Light

Deus' Magnum Opus
Rain
Impulse
In-toxication
Duel

Hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all

The world will not end when God grants it.
It will end when the last heart is broken

Dexter
DongWei
EngYian
Gina
Grace
GuangRui
HuiMin
JiaWen
JLam
Joey
Melvyn
TingJun
WeiRong
YunYing
Yvonne
ZhengRui

Wednesday, June 20, 2007
A poem on the wretchedness of life. And for those who realize it, this poem is also about love.


The Songbird and the Maestro

Beneath the tree on a park bench
Sat an old man, wizened and bent
When passing by one would have seen
The old man and his violin

In the tree sat a songbird
Graceful, elegant and demurred
Her beautiful voice could enrapture men
As well as the old man and his instrument

The old man took out his fiddle and bow
Preparing a song to sooth his wasted soul
Hovering above him were the black crows
The only audience to this forlorn show

And the man played a beautiful tune
As colourful and cheerful as a child's balloon
For a moment beneath the tree
His heart was truly free

And as the final note wanly faded
The old man sat down once again, jaded
For though music could give his cold soul life
But life itself, to him was a lie

The songbird's voice lifted into song
Telling the tale of one who do not belong
An unholy melody of infinite sadness
Reminding the maestro of his cold loneliness

And as the songbird ceased to sing
It spread its pair of glorious wings
And took flight into the fading night
And out of the wistful maestro's sight

WongWenPu
Insight after a discussion with ShuHui
20/06/07
posted @ 3:57 PM