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If things don't go to plan
if everything goes down the pan,

learn to fish.

wish I'd known this then.

we move on
like the cogs in machinery and
if well oiled,
we move on efficiently.

I can live with the past,
I don't need a fishing rod
to catch and relive it.
I
give it a wide berth
the
earth's big enough for that.
According to astrology,
The stars arrange themselves to bind
The destinies of humankind
Born under their hegemony.  
What malice made those twinkling lights
****** my children, and yet spare
A father to forever bear
Grief that embitters, and ignites
A hatred for my very birth,  
And the cursed womb that gave me life.  
****** in this vale of loss and strife,
Pushed through that vile and ****** firth,
I live and suffer till I die.
Are the stars locked in crystal spheres
To trace their paths throughout the years,
Quite powerless to nullify,  
The ruin and the doom they chart?  
Or do they skip across the void,
Giddy, and cruel, and overjoyed
To wither a poor father’s heart?  
If they’re condemned to blight
The fate of any mortal born
Under their aegis, they must mourn
The sentences their glint must write.  
If merciful, those stars must share
The misery their shining brings,
And their own brittle glimmerings
Must lance their conscience with despair.  
Extinguishing those stars that ****
Unwillingly is clemency.
Annihilation sets them free.  
But if they’re vicious, it will thrill
My aching spirit to ***** out
Ill-omened and malignant stars,
Child-murderers, and the bêtes noires
Of fathers, even if devout.  
Such wicked lights disgrace the night,
So, emptied, let that banner shut.  
An expanse cleansed of glittery ****
Contracts so closely and so tight
No spirit banished from its rest
Can enter through that dismal gate,
Once happy, now disconsolate,
Dropped in a world they will detest.  
Into that gap, the day before
And the day afterward will close.  
So that cursed hour cannot expose
A naked child to famine, war,
Plague, and the agonies this world.
Inflicts upon the bad and good.  
If in the womb, I’d understood
The pain awaiting, I’d have curled
Up tighter and would lock my knees.
Shutting the door, I would return
To a green glade and gurgling bourn,
A haven from atrocities.
Job curses the day he was born.
There once was a lovely little gosling named Julia.
She went around gathering traits.
When she grew up she fell in love with Xponis, the powerful goose. He would lead a journey south.
No two geese are alike. So I pulled out my looking glass and took a look. It's true.
The geese did a thing called drafting. This does not mean they stop for a draught on the way south. It means flying slightly behind and to the flank to take advantage of the draft from the goose in front. It makes for easier flight.
Bang! It's over.
To prepare the goose, Margaret, the chef, takes over.
originaljustgeorge
O bird, that used to press,
Thy head against my cheek
With touch that seem'd to speak,
And ask a tender 'yes' -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.

O tender downy breast,
And warmly beating heart,
That beating seem'd a part
Of me who gave it rest -
Ay de mi, my bird:
Ay de mi, my bird, my bird -
Ay de mi, my bird.
Spring comes hither
Buds the rose . . .
Roses wither
Sweet spring goes . . .
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would she carry me.

Summer soars
Wide-wing'd day . . .
White light pours
Flies away . . .
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would he carry me.

Soft winds blow
Westward borne . . .
Onward go
Towards the morn
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would they carry me.

Sweet birds sing
O'er the graves
Then take wing
O'er the waves
O ja là
O ja là . . .
Would they carry me.
Warm whisp'ring through the slender olive leaves
Came to me a gentle sound,
Whis'pring of a secret found
In the clear sunshine 'mid the golden sheaves:

Said it was sleeping for me in the morn,
Called it gladness, called it joy,
Drew me on 'Come hither, boy.'
To where the blue wings rested on the corn.

I thought the gentle sound had whispered true
Thought the little heaven mine,
Leaned to clutch the thing divine,
And saw the blue wings melt within the blue!
 Feb 2022 solEmn oaSis
Elly
Isang saranggolang nasa himpapawid
at tila'y iyong puso ay kanyang tinawid
kanyang hatid ay puno lamang ng saya
walang ibang hangad kundi ang magpaligaya

Siya'y makulay at tila puno ng buhay
nagbibigay ng pag-asa sa bawat isa
Na sila'y makakakita muli ng ligaya
sa pamamagitan ng kulay na kanyang pinagsama-sama

Isang saranggola na siyang makulay
binibigyang kahulugan ang bawat buhay
pag-asa na kanyang binibigay
kaya't puno ng pag-ibig ang kanyang inaalay

Sa kanyang paglipad sa himpapawid
mag-iiwan ng isang mensahe
na ika'y magsilbing pag-asa
sa mundong hindi na natin mabasa
 Feb 2022 solEmn oaSis
Elly
truth
 Feb 2022 solEmn oaSis
Elly
here's the truth
i'm scared.
that i might not be what he really wanted
that he'd realize that he doesn't love nor like me
that i'm actially just a plain canvas
an empty hallway
messed up
and not enough

because i want him to see that i'm more than just what he sees 'cause he knows how much i don't like what i'm already seeing.
 Feb 2022 solEmn oaSis
Elly
habang ikinakawing ko ang aking mga daliri unti-unti rin nitong napupunan ang bawat patlang sa pagitan ng aking mga daliri, naisip ko kung bakit patuloy akong nagsusulat. nagsusulat ako na para bang pinupunan nito lahat ng patlang na aking nararamdaman. umaasa na sa paraang ito kahit papaano, kahit kaunti mabawasan lahat ng halu-halong emosyon. na tulad ng mga kamay na ikinawing ay mas magiging matibay ito, hindi madaling paghiwalayin. na para bang kinukuha ko ang lakas sa mga kataga na binibitawan ko at pinupunan ang bawat butas na para bang kailan man hindi ito nagkaroon ng kakulangan o guwang. nagsisilbing bakas bilang patunay na, "kaya ko" o kadalasan ay, "okay lang ako"
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