Tommy Le


This is a football.
Magnificently crafted in a factory abroad.
A victim to kicks and punches.
Suffering paused by a whistle.

Oh, how it longs to have that whistle.
To end the suffering once and for all.
But now, kicked by many,
Then discarded upon death.

A witness, to many achievements.
Seeing victory and failure.
A witness to brutality and broken jaws.
Yet rolls around a brotherly game.

Stored in it, are multiple secrets.
Corruption and the referee’s wrong decisions.
Only waiting to burst out of the ball,
As it slowly rolls into the goal.


Life Spent Well

When I consider how my light is spent,
Is my life worth living, as my days count down.
The quest to seek what the Creator meant,
As I wander around this empty town.
I spot a family counting down their last days.
They hug each other for warmth, and shivering.
Don’t have the strength to look for maize.
I believe I am the one Delivering.
I bring them food, clear their lost Soul.
I bring them back to my dwelling place.
They sit on my table, where I usually sit lone.
Changed my life, cleared Us from our pain.
My life is now at most complete.
Now I have people, where we can have a feast.


Self Portrait

I take a quick glance at my audience.
I turn back at my piano and I am ready.
As I play, my mind goes for a distant journey.
I am no longer there, they are no longer here.
Paranoid. struggling to explain myself.
Yet not enough words have been invented, and will never be.
My life is an arpeggio, steadily progressing.
Yet technology seems to be slowly devouring me.
My life is a question, curiosity drives me crazy.
My soul tries to exit and enter different bodies.
My question was always, “Am I the only one real?”
“Do I see the same colors of life as others?”
My wandering mind returns, as I play the last key
I move away, bow, and get buried in the deep blue sea.

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