Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
The stars are out, the stars out oh come you spirits and rise. The joy of evening is upon us, the cruel sun has met it's demise. In fading light, the evening comes, the pin holes in the curtain of night give gentle repose. The silver moon can now rise and coolly shine on our dance. Hearts leap and shades skim across the water. Silent lakes and deep quiet rivers are their play grounds. Lapping at the water as they skirt quickly across scarcely leaving a trace that they were there, only a brief glimpse of a reflection to remember them by. The flowers have wilted into their shells as crickets serenade and night owls keep watch. Fire flies dance and children laugh in the days fading light. All is alive thought a dark curtain has fallen. Life does not stop at the suns going down. Only the cool of a faint shade of darkness rest on the land that part of the world can sleep while the rest in twilight can play.
To live out of the draught of so many wiggling tongues
is a blessing in deed
its the silence of the heart with its steady beat of love
calls the poet to her web
the intoxication of places beyond the senses, not revealed to the chattering masses who cannot hear beyond the surface of things.
its the patience of the universe solicitous for her children, to come and partake of her fare.
No glasses
No rings
No tattoos
Just my skin
The skin god gave me
And if you know how to look

You'll see divine art

No glasses
I can see clearly
My contacts
Are the souls I reach
The love I give
And receive

No rings
My hands are strong
They hold the frets
And make a song
A song that god gave me
I have to sing

No tattoos
Because the scars are my art
And scars on my heart
Tell a story
About a life I used to live
And the time I died
I wanted a tattoo when I was younger, I couldn't afford it, every dime to ******,, now I'm clean, I can see clearly. I'm perfect as I am
Take me to where the wild waters vanish...

Love to feel your happiness...

Promise me...
I wish, I wish...

Each time I think I'm falling, I wake...

Floating on a clear lake...
How beautiful is this Earth.
How exquisitely tender the delicate filaments that connect us, heart to heart.
I go into the Land of Light.
I go into the beauty of the Land of Light.
I go into the love in the Land of Light.
I will not forget you.
I am grateful for my life.
I am grateful.
I am.
My words are but a shooting star
To be seen in all its glory
But as shooting stars fade in an instant
So do my words to be read once
Then fade into obscurity
Every death
I have felt, or known,
In silence, i mourn,
Within my breath...

No words come upfront
Just thoughts, preponderant...

I'd feel the freezing cold of an empty space
Feel the absence...clearly imagine a lost face
No smiles, spanning from cheek to cheek
Eyes, seek answers...
suddenly, I'm there by the shallow water of the creek
While some nearby creatures quietly chirp...and squeak
While I......... I could not even speak...

Living,
Is realizing...and accepting
At the right time, they turn brown, the weeds...and reeds,
But, under the water...waiting, growing...are their seeds
Brown ferns...are almost detached from a mossy concrete wall
With a strong current, and wind, they'd be carried...ready to fall

The driftwood lying by the shore...is always wet, but petrified
Brown fallen leaves, on the green grass...no more hold...crisp and dried,
The dead bark of a tree...in pieces...are crumbling...
Merging with the wet earth...in a process of fertilizing
Deep down under ....a fresh spark of life is starting.
All these, remind,
Life and death stand side by side,
That in the midst of death-
Something new is birthed...
When faced with death,
there is always someone's living breath
And, as long as the heart wills to beat
Then, life.....will still exist.

Hundreds, or a thousand times,  
We all have died
In the high and low of life's tides,
Physically,
Emotionally.

We remember
Those who have left
Those who have survived..are still around
We think of those who are next to leave,
Waiting for their chests' final heave

---And then, we think of ourselves---

Worry not of our own time
Make each of our remaining days
Be golden, beaming, and bright
With good deeds, and straight pathways

The earth is a moving circle
It makes a round.......as it spins
We try to live outwards....and then, within
Any way we live it...life is an endless cycle.


Sally



Copyright March 23, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***A  HAPPY  EASTER TO EVERYONE!!! ***
Because on the darkest nights
I see faint rays of the purest light,
And among the fatal deceptions
lost in exalted sorrows,
       I know that there is still poetry.
When the words are welled
Inside a throat like a fire
Waking from its slumber,
Rain the embers to paper,
      The words like a familiar pain,
      Speak as the darkness speaks,
      Take in the honest friend,
      Let them take you to tranquillity.
Because when I am at my blackest,
The poem understands me,
It speaks to me,
Cries with me,
I give my darkest to its white surface,
       A cave serrated by light,
      The words will speak in the night,
      They will light the way
      To new dawns,
And you are never alone
If you have read these words,
Because through them,
We become as one.
I'm always here if you just need to get something off your chest. I offer myself to you who might feel alone and in deep darkness.
.
The tender Willow leaves whoosh softly
                              with the fickle cherry blossom breeze

Painting the colour
                              these inevitable days ,
                              the fragrant scent
                                                      o­f springtide

No longer holding back
                              the dreams from deep in a heart
                                                               w­axing gibbous ,

the unopined moon
                              rose up over an unwritten poem

painting hues with words
                              shaping the shadows of its song
                              into a musically dappled tableau

stroked by the tickle of poignant whispers

                              waft from the veritable roguish winter nadir
                                              ― a latent and longing heart


         ― beneath
                              a sky full of stars

                                      
                 ­                                        ✩ ✩ ☼ ✩ ✩
                                                     *wild is the wind
Next page