My Real Fantasy

This is one of my poems that I'm really proud off. This was my first poem that I actually performed with. I actually perform this in the San Francisco Main Library for "The Japanese American Internment Camp Project" about two years ago...

This poem is about a character inside of the internment camp, and how his perception of the world change because of this experience. There is a lot of in depth things to say about this, but I don't feel like boring you guys with it. So here are the poem.

P.S. I should have post this up during Dr. Martin Luther King Birthday, I guess I forgot. It is better late then never right?

-----------------------------------------

My Real Fantasy

Every night, the rain continuously falls.
The room sits in a majestic silence
that can’t be broken by any words.

The window is covered by sweats and dusts,
but I manage to get a glimpse
of a lifeless ray of the setting sun.

I wipe the dust from the windows,
moon light flashes my face,
welcoming me outside to the cold.

I look out and a coyote appears
and start singing to the moon.
The rain falls harder, with no end.

Still, I gaze out at the uncertain night,
the rain slowly forms into tears,
pelts the glass, shattering it twice.

I try to reach out, but the broken glass
stabs my hand as I struggle through,
and still I struggle until my hand is red.

My hand, now outside, is stained by my blood.
I wonder will it be worth it
just to feel the rain, so cold and dead.