There's something about
opening a bottle of colour -
knowing
that any way it spills
won't spell A-R-T at your hands.
let's call it the audacity of trying,
and
move on.

Same thing for a lump of clay -
lying in front of you,
waiting for creative violence,
but you know that your thoughts
don't have fingers,
your ideas don't have arms.
let's call it the pointlessness of wishing
and
move on.

Don't look at the camera -
the eager buttons waiting,
glinting in the hope of your touch
a lens waiting to be turned -
knowing that your eye can never
translate your sight into art,
your vision will never equal
an image.
let's call it the imperfection of waiting,
and
move on.

My last hope is a pen.
my fingers rush over it,
finding solace in known grooves
where my fingers have settled
time and again.
i call it the comfort of a story.

and this time,
*i stay

She lost her heart inside his soul..in the words his mind composed...inside the myriad memories of this emerald eyes...that shone with a light she had never know...a longing she thought was hers alone...

She loved him more than life itself..
But feared that even the shadow of her
scared, wounded heart would cast
an evil that could not be dispelled.

The proof of her love was in her eyes..she loved him each moment...knowing well that even the sight of him killed her a thousand times over...
She wanted the best for him...even if it meant being without her.

His future, his dreams meant more to her than that ache deep down to see him behold her with a longing she saw in his eyes alone....none ever looked at her like that...ever
Lust was all she got....disgust if at all.

He made her feel beautiful, feel complete..seem ageless...almost magically as if his love alone could transform her demons into ashes....
He was all she ever wanted..hoped for..he was the answer to her aching heart!

She loved him like she would die every day just to be held in his transcendental embrace...

But then she ran away...frightened at the plethora of emotions that coursed through her hopeless body..afraid of her own shadow...afraid of what it meant...a reality she couldn't dream of..cudnt imagine..
worlds colliding.. hopes shattering...
she dare not love again...she dare not love again..she promised herself.."Not this time...not again"

Virginal white dress,
Her colorblind obsession
Breeds jealous colors.

High up there, I glance at you
You hide again, sometimes peeping,
While I put aside
My worries for this day.
Waves and curves seem to shroud you
This early April  evening
Though you are perfectly rounded.
We watch each other,
You eye me down,
I look above, to you...
We speak in our silence,
With me, listening,
Offering all the warmth i could share with you,
For, your Ivory white light, is cold and distant
Unlike your warm yellow crescent
.........of some nights ago....

This evening, you awake in me
Dormant, unsettling thoughts,
I am confused, yet,
You show me a panoramic view of faces
They dwell in my mind as I gaze at you
But there is this brilliant one
That smiles beneath your moon glow
It stares me in the eye,
Speaks to me, without words...

My breathing evens out,
It becomes a melody
Because the time has arrived...
These few moments,
When restlessness drifts away
As you shine down on me
When impatience departs from me,
And I am calmed suddenly
And I don't know what else to think of...
For, this evening,
You, and this brilliant face have once again
........comforted me....
I am warmed, I am glad.
I am now smiling, looking up, at you,
My April moon, I bid you goodnight,
I am beaming, as silently...I thank you....


(A repost of an older poem...edited)


Sally

Copyright April 11, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

Friend's Sincerity comes with Silent Comfort.

The only
Not wanted
Was
Breath

All of you

My darlings

I loved

A lawless comet,
Galaxies curiously watch,
Cosmic boom alarms!