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As winds blow
And leaves scatter
As cracks show
And unions shatter

As fires rage
And trees fall
As pawns stage
And heros stall

As mud slides
And homes give way
As truth hides
And pseudonyms stay

As hope dies
And brave men stumble
As tides rise
And sandcastles crumble

We hardly even notice...
Too preoccupied with smartphones and selfies
 Apr 2017 brandon nagley
We are but art
Our words
Falling in love but a thousand times daily
No less than worded Geisha
Black Butterflies to flutter the ears
Dark diamonds to dazzle the eyes
Though we lie and hope
Hope for dryer setting normality
It may break even our own hearts,
that we so desire all that can NEVER
be attained
We live in shadows of shimmering dreams
We may write for you, speak for you, display our talents
Flutter our blackened wings
But we can never really be touched
Our dark diamonds slice flesh and dreams
We can never love more than page and pen
Causing hurricanes with a mere fluttering of a black wing
We love
But never give ourselves
Only our words
We are poems unspoken
Black Butterflies
Dark Diamonds
Ladies of Poetry
Oh yeah! For all my Ladies of written heartbreak, insanity, tears, longing, hatred. My very own Bella Mafia! You. I love you. You've held my hand in cemeteries, whispered in my ear, let me cry on your shoulders, we have wandered through each other's dreams and nightmares. Thank you, my black butterfies, my dark diamonds.<3
The plump moon lights up my room.

My mind is now a flat graph
no desire no lust no dream

the cold winds from the rumbling sea
make no dent on me
I look at my palms
and see the cracked floor
gnarled roots of mangrove on the wall
blend seamlessly with all I have
like once I had her in this room
love together
taking wingless flight to the moon
but now I more like sitting here
prospecting no words to rhyme
not angered at the blankness
for in this vacuous moonlight
I wait without a hope of gain
without a despair of loss
unconstrained for time
contoured by fireflies
recounting a new beginning
from the end.
 Apr 2017 brandon nagley
Some dead things just won't lay down
We keep walking
Long after we've died
Wreaking havoc upon the living
what little of ourselves that remains alive in
Tears and shame
Throwing up on sidewalks
Bringing the occasional young stranger home
To get that little drip of pleasure
From his heartbreak at dawn
But apparently
This kind of "self help"
Isn't working
Tomatoe juice with celery sticks
And people behind desks in
Ugly polyester suits with framed papers on their walls and a prescription or two
Is now
Rehab for the dead
(a second time posting)

T'was a short poem I was reading...
I had started writing
My comments,
Along came a very strange feeling,
With very strange thoughts:

"This... has exactly happened before...
This poem...I have read before...
Written these very same thoughts before!"

Over and over, I blinked... had to make sure...
But, all at once... one brief moment...
I found myself seated beside a grand piano,
By a wide ostentatious stairway,
In a bright, candle-lit mansion...
But, stranger still, while I was writing,
My eyes strayed to my right,
To a mirror by the wall...
I saw a handsome young man,
With slightly long curly hair,
Wearing a long-sleeved, white ruffled shirt
And a pair of dark pants,
Holding paper and quill,
Looking back at me.

I was staring at myself!!!

I was holding the paper,
Where I had written my thoughts,
About a poem titled,


Copyright November 5, 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan


             Below is Timothy's poem,
             the reason for my "Deja Vu."


The wilting of the flowers;
Ephemeral bubble bursts;
The last grains of sand run out;—
I wilt just like flow'rs.

© Timothy 30 July, 2013.
Unbelievable....but true...
   Some years ago, I was reading Timothy's poem titled WILT....
      I was typing my comments, and in a split second,
         I suddenly found myself that strange setting.
Fly without fear of falling,
That courage I envy.*

Beautiful in their feathers,
And content without covering up.

Can not cook nor farm,
But trust their creator that they wouldn't starve.

They fly high,
Up to where they belong..
Doing what they were meant to do.

Beautify the earth as creatures of the sky.
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