It was dark.  A black curtain seem to cover the Earth.  Shadows played in the infinite night while demons screamed their songs.  It has been hard to walk among them for so long. I ware an old shroud around me and walked barefoot.   But today is the final day. The final day in the dark.  I am a collector. I collect light.  I have collected enough for one day to shine. 24 hours of shine.  Its all I need.  You see everyone here cannot remember what a sunny day looks like.  Even in their dreams the day is night.  That is until today.    I take a walk to one of the last churches standing.  It looks much like a normal house.  I suppose its why it was overlooked and never destroyed.  Before I unleash the light I walk down the aisle and kneel before I sit down on the pew.   I close my eyes and pray.  As I pray the light begins to pour out of me. I pray and I pray until the church is full of light! I never realised that the light would pour out of me during prayer.  I then open the shutters to all the windows and let the light outside.  The light cuts through the darkness as I begin to hear screams unbound.  The demons in their anger destroy the final church letting all the light out into the dark world.  A mistake on their part.  The light illuminates the world in an instant.  I remove the old shrouds around me and let my wings spread.  I then take flight upon the new day.   As I hear the demons screaming in agony below.

A poet writes
about truths,
what is, and what is not...
a poet writes about nature,
people....the sun, moon and stars,
a poet dares to feel...to see the whole world...


A poet writes...
to vent his/her own shares of  joy
of agony...and aches...miseries...afflictions
as well as those of the others'
a poet reads...sees through someone else's eyes,
face...words...voice...and actions...

A poet writes,
to euphemize the sharp truths and facts in life
make them less painful to the ears
to at least, soften the pointed edges of every trial...to hurt less
to pad the impact of a fall...from frustration and despair
and, through words...encourage one...to rise...when fallen...

A poet writes
to cite reasons...so a hurting one would believe again
have faith in life...in love...again
to reach out...to those who have gone far, in the dark
and take them back to the fold ...of the bright side...

A poet writes...
to tell the woes of those oppressed
the world over
those tortured...violated...and killed
of children abused
their future stolen away from them...

A poet writes
of how nature has been exploited...and maltreated
how human beings
would one day disappear,
how nature...would be around.......no matter what...

A poet is sensitive
observant
and vigilant...
A poet is compelled to see and tell all truths...
truths of yesterday...those that are here now...happening
and those of tomorrow.....and beyond...
All these,
A poet must write...
...nothing more
...and nothing less...


Sally

Copyright January 3, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan



[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[(())]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]­]]]]]]]]]]

Don't fall victim
It's a trap
Sadness wants
To eat your soul
Away to
Nothing; nothing
Can
Ever replace you

Prayer Before Birth (1944) - Poem by Louis Macneice


I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me.

I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.

I am not yet born; provide me
With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk
to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light
in the back of my mind to guide me.

I am not yet born; forgive me
For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words
when they speak me, my thoughts when they think me,
my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,
my life when they ****** by means of my
hands, my death when they live me.

I am not yet born; rehearse me
In the parts I must play and the cues I must take when
old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountains
frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white
waves call me to folly and the desert calls
me to doom and the beggar refuses
my gift and my children curse me.

I am not yet born; O hear me,
Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God
come near me.

I am not yet born; O fill me
With strength against those who would freeze my
humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton,
would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with
one face, a thing, and against all those
who would dissipate my entirety, would
******* like thistledown hither and
thither or hither and thither
like water held in the
hands would spill me.

Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.
Otherwise **** me.



Louis Macneice

He runs with unbridled joy
And eats every biscuit that he licks
His eyes light up with every new toy
‘Twas a beautiful world and he was just six.

Learning to make friends at school
Coloring books, catching crooks
Pulling ponytails, breaking rules
Big eyes that mesmerize with every look.

Everything was beautiful bliss
But soon this peace was destroyed
His innocence was robbed starting with an unwanted kiss
And the soul became cold, dark and void.

The evil one dimmed his happy fire
And unsparingly exploited his vulnerability
Used his body for  evil desire
Repeatedly ***** him most ruthlessly.

That boy with the spark in his eyes is gone
Salty tears instead of the chocolate ice creams
Blamed god for everything that went wrong
But Alas! No one heard his screams.

He lies down exhausted
Nursing his wounds and scars
Waiting for the train to come around
He was spared to live long and far.

The evil one took everything that he had
But today he fights continuously
To spare others, his fate as a lad
Defiance to the evil one he shows tirelessly.

Because there’s one hope that leads him on
Wounds will heal, scars will fade
Remembering the pain, he cries alone
My son, I’m with you , do not be afraid.

i screamed into the empty void
all alone
paranoid of everything

the emptiness
moaned back at me
its nature
making me its slave

my dreams
shredded me apart
piece by piece
made me weak

my thoughts haunt me
they are my inner demon
screaming into
worlds unknown
(b.d.s.)

I choose
not to step out
in front of the
oncoming truck
like some flighty
whitetail deer
beside a lonely highway
flat-lining through the Badlands

I hold the perimeter
respect the irrevocable
delineations of love
honor the ground
that roots
evergreen
place my trust
in lapis blue

I recognize
this ground
laced with stones
and poisoned barbs
hike barefoot here
unafraid

a barren desert
feels like home
when there is nothing
to be lost or gained

I have been here
many times before
stripped down naked
in the noonday sun
watching vultures
wheel and dive

as I dangle
twist and spin
ever the enabler
enabling

We are soldiers joined in battle.
Fighting a war, fighting a war.
We belong to one healing centre.
Fighting dying, fighting dying.

Tubes
and
needles
are
our
weapons.
Pills
our
defence
against
the
enemy.

The light shines in my eyes.
The bed I am on is comfort.
In my thought processes
are the many situations
I've collected in this life.

It's not been too bad,
this past I review.
There have been
some disappointments.
Not uncommon
nor unexpected.
But the happiness
outweighs
the
tears.
The
melodies
pleasant
to
the
ears.­­

I suppose I am ready
to be with my comrades
in the Armageddon of
this unholy war.

We are champions of pain.
Joining forces, joining forces.
We march in determination.
In our hearts, in our hearts.

Some of us shall fall
in this ongoing struggle.
We
shall
mourn
their
deaths
and
celebrate
their
courage­­.
Carry on beating the
drums of resistance.
Carry on hoping
for victories to be.
And
if
I
join
the
defeated,
if
I
die
before
my
time;
remember­­
that
I
tried
to
float the balloons
in the winds
of flying illusions.
Look for me
in
the
air.