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Men write ****** odes
Which is only a painful reminder
That men have no clue
How to turn women on
No one else, but a poet...can bring colors
to scenes...with verses, in crass or subtle
tones......gather words together in lines,
uncertain in their ebbing and flowing...
the results create surprise in many
hues that could make one cry,
grimace......frown......or smile

readers are led to far, or near
destinations...to the cool, sweet air
and peaceful atmosphere of paradise,  
or, to unlit corners...uncharted waters,
or deep into an abyss...or, a black hole,
an unknown corner, where moribund souls
are biding their time, maybe, they could
now define by themselves, purgatory and hell,
understand those sunken souls who have lost
all...except their arms, and begging eyes...
then, through appropriate words,
a poet paints a laborious path, or
a stairway...so an enlightened reader
may climb back to safe, calm waters...

a poet makes the mind see a human heart,
beating in many rhythms...throbbing,
.......aflame with longing and desire,
bursting from ecstatic, sublime moments,
then, later on,  shift to grayish thoughts
that cut deep....tormenting...crashing,
............gnashing the heart...
a poet paints a soul walking on cloud nine,
later, to dip feet in celebrative pools.

sometimes, a poet would rather not, yet,
an inner force prevails, thereby paints a
drooping soul...dying, in total surrender,
ready to fall..............but, again, with a
barrel of lively-colored words,  a poet
takes this despondent soul to berth,
with soothing verses, bring it to a rebirth...
every human being is worth an effort
..............even those that have fallen
.........................are worth savin' .....

a poet's palette is uniquely
enriched with colorful experiences,
a poet paints life in its truest colors,
..........could be dark...or bright
.....nothing more......nothing less...





Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    January 29, 2017
 Jun 2018 Elizabeth Burns
Alexa
I’ve made a *** of coffee
And filled a cup for everyone.
I pour the last drops for you
But my cup remains dry.

You tell me, you prefer tea.

I’ve made a cup of tea
And place the sugar bowl beside it.
You tell me, you prefer honey
But you’ll drink it anyway.

Since then,

I’ve kept tea in the cupboard
And honey by the sugar

Just in case you’d come around.

And I can’t remember if I, myself,
Preferred coffee or tea.
There isn't a person
in this world
who has
not
said or done
something they
deeply regret.
And it's
okay.

We're only human.
We're not programmed
to be flawless.

Naturally we would want to:

lock it up,
toss the key,
walk ahead,
never look back.
Pray that it remains
buried or lost in the
shadows so that society
never finds out.
Given the opportunity,
they would relish
in the chance to
tear us apart.
Drag us up and
down on the media.
Because only in our
moments of weakness
they can forget their
own imperfections.

Sad but hey, that's society now...

Just know that making
a mistake is natural
Owning up to what
you did takes
courage.

Just remember this, don't forget your mistakes, ok?

Never forget.
Because to know
who you are,
you need to

remember where you came from.
Such is life...
Only 22 and I can admit and acknowledge some big mistakes.
Things I'm ashamed off...
But hey, that's life!
As sad as I am, as scared as I am, as angry and hurt as I am, I'm still here.
Even when I feel like wanting to die, I'm still here.
My story isn't over. Not yet anyway.

Be back soon!
Lyn x
are you generally happy?

a semi-innocuous query
now actualized as a two sided bladed poker,
hot stabbing me smack dab in
the chests hollow crown bullseye,
continuously,  as in all life long, and eternal longing for a
“yes”

it fits inside a pubescent aged wound that
refreshes with every breath;
a life long struggle for an accurate definition,
be a general of genuine happy,
that alone would deliver, bringing on bright day satisfaction

as a human, one operates on parallel continuums;
slide slipping on well oiled poles that over the years,
their lengths, increasing with add-on extender poles
formed by
twisty turny slips and falls of sundered hearts and sad loves,
marriages nicknamed Titanic, children found and lost,
complications responsibilities that are denied meeting the words  
  “The End”

a life that many would envy, questioning what’s wrong
with you dude, are you blinded to the riches yours,
reality is
shoulders permanently bent, a spine that’s held together by
spit and solder and curved by wearying wearing longing for
a straightness that is also called crooked unobtainable
and a piece of a peace that comes and goes
like a highway billboard that you pass too fast to be fully read

the body is corroding and worser yet to come and that’s a hand
you selected - luck of the self-selecting-drawing -

the opioids of the mind offers are rejected

the clarity of painful self exploration valued overall -
the place where the poems come from,
and go to die,
a landscape of a scene repeatedly visualized
but never been and never left,
the crazy contradictions come in two flavors;
vanilla smiles and chocolate weeping of tears that have
etched pathways cheek-chiseled

the city is a struggling strife for most,
the next red line on the side
of the measuring cup  and
everyone has a cell, a credit card,
and a measuring cup
<•>
here I stop can’t finish  
someone missing alerts me
to their real worlds troubles
making my complaints super superficial but
the silent running of the stilleto
cuts shallow
repeated hourly
the cut color,

pitch black
We did it, we finally really did it,
we blew it up.
The clock stops ticking as the silence of
electricity runs through it.
Monsters of industry stop at the hand
of a symbolic clock.

Conflict from the East and West
has brought Armageddon to our door.
A confident young leader of the East
and an arrogant business man of the West,
helped by a horseman of the North
have by their hand taken mankind to the stone age.

Instruments of peace are built to send a message
of hate, fear and promise of destruction.
Instruments once used in a final and unforgettable
effort for peace in sleeker times.
Not having learnt from two examples
we march onwards into Judgement Day.

The young Leader from the East now sits
scared, retreating into his power and dead vision.
The confidence now sits with the West as they
enter the East, coming to claim what they can.
The deck is played with one last final card in
the hands of the East, a regretful one.

Ten plus five places are to experience the
beginning of the end first.
The last card is played,
the last card mankind will ever play.
Metropolis goes silent in an instead,
civilization turns to somber ashes.

Words in whispers are spoken in
loss, desperation, pain and remembrance.
As the former things of the world
have passed away into ashes and particles.
A psychological hell land lays ahead as
men with sticks and stones approach.
I travel through the valley of darkness
in the sunlight of a new day.
Iron coffins surround my every escape
as I move slowly towards a forging institution.

Objects of understandable incarceration
hold thousands and stand all in one place.
Gears move about a system,
No other concern or worry outside the machine.

The melancholy setting of helplessness and loneliness
fill the air and reflect upon each piece.
Each piece itself falsifying evidence
for being self-efficient and sustained.

Problems in the ethics of the machine
is known by all the operators and directors.
Yet common sense is stored in the subconscious,
ignored but talked about each day.

The motor of the machine runs and this thought
is put over all others.
Knowledge is power,
but ignorance is bliss.
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