You spend your nights tossing and turning on your creaky bed
You hug your demons like a teddy bear
You try to hush your cries for sometime
But still a tear or two escape from your eyes
You attempt to think about the old happy times
But you can't evade the darkness that surrounds you
Sleep has abandoned you like your lost love
And all you do is stare at the ceiling above
You are broken tormented and terrified
In a vicious circle of emptiness and sufferings
You crave for the warmth of your lover's arms
But all you get is the coldness of your bed
For tonight, my friend let the moon be our messenger
Through it lets talk about our broken hearts, lost love and shattered dreams
Let's talk about the pain that clouds our eyes
Let's share the warm hugs of kindness
Amidst this pain, let's not forget that we are warriors
Souls who refuse to give in
We'll fight against our demons like the warriors we are
We'll rise above this world once and for all

Soon it will rain,
and there will be
some smell of ground,
some umbrellas will
cover the roadsides.
But before that
I will be in home
in my window.
Will watch the
rush of rains from there
till evening,
till the poetry ends.

Many, many years ago, Life, Death, and Man lived harmoniously alongside each other. They ate, drank, and laughed together. Until one day, Death grew jealous of Man's abundant Joy, and so at night, while the others were asleep, Death murdered Man and robbed him of his joy. Of course, Death was banished from the Earth, and Life fell in love with Man's son. Man's son was very happy with Life, and soon they were inseparable.
One hot summer day, as the sun prepared to set, Life saw a dark figure approach. He set out toward it, and slowly realized it was Death, only now he was dressed in a black cloak.
"Why have you returned?" asked Life. "What do you desire?"
"I come a long way," Death replied. "I have been made King of Purgatory, and the demons serve me."
"Do you wish to rule over the Earth as well?" said Life angrily. "Do you ****** me as you did Man?"
"Certainly not!" Death affirmed. "I wish to make a simple deal."
"What do you propose?" Life asked suspiciously.
Death smiled. "Let us join forces. Together we shall rob man of Joy, I in the Heavens and you on the Earth, and we shall divide the loot between ourselves!"
Life agreed. That night when Man's son was asleep, Life took his Joy. When he awoke in the morning, he saw that his Joy was gone, and realized that Life had betrayed him. A broken man, he hung himself. Of course, Man had no more Joy in Death than he did in Life. Until today, Man is alone in his pain, haunted by Death and betrayed by Life.

"In the end
It's you.
And, **** it,
It's always
just going to
be you.
So,
I'm simply
not going to fight it
anymore.
You're mine."

No one else, but a poet...can bring colors
to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle
tones......gather words together in lines,
uncertain in their ebbing and flowing...
the results create surprise in many
hues that could make one cry,
grimace......frown......or smile

readers are led to far, or near
destinations...to the cool, sweet air
and peaceful atmosphere of paradise,  
or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters,
or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole,
an unknown corner, where moribund souls
are biding their time, maybe, they could
now define by themselves, purgatory and hell,
understand those sunken souls who have lost
all...except their arms, and begging eyes...
then, through appropriate words,
a poet paints a laborious path, or
a stairway...so an enlightened reader
may climb back to safe, calm waters...

a poet makes the mind see a human heart,
beating in many rhythms...throbbing,
.......aflame with longing and desire,
bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments,
then, later on,  shift to grayish thoughts
that cut deep....tormenting...crashing,
............gnashing the heart...
a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine,
later, to dip feet in celebrative pools.

sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet,
an inner force prevails, thereby paints a
drooping soul...dying, in total surrender,
ready to fall..............but, again, with a
barrel of lively-colored words,  a poet
takes this despondent soul to berth,
with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth...
every human being is worth an effort
..............even those that have fallen
.........................are worth savin' .....

a poet's palette is uniquely
enriched with colorful experiences,
a poet paints life in its truest colors,
..........could be dark...or bright
.....nothing more......nothing less...





Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    January 29, 2017