(a second time posting)


T'was a short poem I was reading...
I had started writing
My comments,
When...
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,
"....WILT...."



Sally

Copyright November 5, 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

::::::

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


WILT

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


~Timothy~
Dodoitsu.
© Timothy 30 July, 2013.

We are vessels of seeds.
Seeds of ideas.
Seeds of thoughts.
Seeds of words.

We scatter our seeds
And sow our worlds.

Let’s be careful
To see which seed is a flower
And which is a ****.

Paint my heart as empty
all blue and black and grey

Around it perforate a circle
from beginning back to start

Paint it very gently
then quickly pull away

Tearing it out
without ripping it apart

Someday they'll surely place it
in the Gallery of Fools

Inside the Wailing Walls
out past the Hall of Shame

And when the people face it
they'll cherish their own hearts

As if anatomy has
anything to do with pain