If life was a day
I'd wake up kicking and screaming
opening my eyes to the world for the first time
seeing and meeting strange people
by 9am I'd be in my 20's and in my prime
but not for long before the day made me tired

By midday I would be wasting my life savings
buying a new car, holidays and fancy clothes
for I would have entered my midlife crisis
What had started out as a long day
was coming to an end quicker than I realised

The day would roll on and by late evening
I'd be a grandad, spoiling my family
spending what I had left to enjoy the time I had left
As I would struggle up the stairs
longing for my bed
the day would be nearing its end
11:59pm time for me to fall asleep
never waking up
never seeing tomorrow
That's what it would be like
If life was a day

I never got to meet my father...
He died when I was nine months old,
But his presence, I always felt
While I was growing up,
Even up to this day...

He would often visit me in my dreams,
Told me not to worry or despair,
Took my hand,
Told me I could go with him..
Which I almost did...

A few times, in high school
I felt a light push on my back
When my Home Economics teacher
Almost caught me nodding...I was
Too bored, to focus on her sewing lessons...

I was always saved from falling
Each time I climbed the guava tree...
I feel some kind of force stopping me,
Standing ahead of me,
Whenever I cross the street, even now...

My late aunt said she found me
Looking up and giggling
When at three or five years old,
I played by myself beside
My father's tall and sturdy book case...

I see his face when I go through
His dwindling collection of
Edgar Allan Poe books, including his
Law books, and a few western pocketbooks left,
All, with mottled pages now...

The matrimonial bed he shared
With my late mother is still in use...
His portrait is hung on our wall...
Today, the fifteenth of June, his birthday,
I look through his eyes, and-----

In silence, I greet him,
"Happy birthday, papa,
Happy Father's Day, as well."
In my mind, my father lives,
And my own stories of him therein dwells...

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

In this, the "intervention"
They insist upon contention
Oh...did they fail to mention
Why they brought you here today?
Infliction of position
A reversal indecision
Can't you tell...?
They're on a mission:
Make the problem go away
For they see not who you are
But who you aren't now by far
They point the finger where you are
To keep the tables now unturned
They never stop...they always stare
Never equal when compared
They scandalize the unprepared
All while pretending they're concerned
Don't you know they know what's best?
So much more than all the rest
They try to force you to ingest
The bitter pills that they won't swallow
So defensive in their offense
Making perfect, utter nonsense
Only one thing holds importance...
See you fail if you won't follow
Strip away all that you know
Conceal yourself in all you show
As long as you will feign to throw away
What makes you who you are
They seek only to destroy
With every trick and every ploy
Until they break their newfound toy
That way, they can't feel their own scars