Let the colors fall off
a deep unbecoming
of a hundred stories
ended with a dot.

a black blot consuming
deep in the heart
let petals feel the wilting
like a dying art

death is unbearable
though a hundred masks worn
each faces wilt, with smiles undone
for a soul has never been alone

this was a story inside of this cage
of a hundred tales untold
visions of death and mourning
now knowing fear uncalled

with a thousand chants to pray at night
let this troubled heart be brave
with a thousand chance to fear the grave
be the hand that lead my fate

hinahanap pa rin kita
sa bawat araw na lumipas
mga gabing kayakap ang lamig
sa mga nakatagong larawang kupas
pinamarisan ng mga alaala
nakapinid sa’king damdamin
hinahanap pa rin

ang mga haplos at yakap
nakakulong sa mga kahapong
naglaho kasabay ng mga ulan,
at sa pag tila ng mga patak
ay siyang pag-agos ng aking luha
para sa mga alaalang
hinahanap kita

sa simoy ng tag-ulan
sa mga bakas ng agos ng luha
sa malamig na hanging dulot
ng mga madidilim na ulap
at sa mga naiwang alaala
hinahanap kita

kahit saan man mapunta aking mga paa
sa pag-iisa at sa paghahanap-karamay
sa walang hanggang agos ng kalungkutan
hinahanap pa rin
ang mga alaala
ng kahapong

hahanapin din
sayo.

Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit
04/07/2017

Friendly were their smiles, they do not bite,

They stay and fly and lie until they might;

Till they choke you they will hear your song,

Crimson black, a heart as dark as gold.


Lonely and their chantings made me sway,

In my heart and mind I let them play,

The bleeding: stays forgotten and in vain,

The winged: still fly and not even in pain.


True lies lies through a fooling craft:

A blade, a word that strikes the back

Eye the lonely scarecrow-no grace in fall

-pity not the act but help my soul.


Now the black winged seized the day,

Chase another living song to play;

Still moments still chase my stolen dreams:

This is death bound to eternal pain.


Friendly were the crows they do not bite,

Only make you bleed your life, and die.

Will I grow tired of pain, will I grow old?

I rest embraced by death, embrace the cold.


The Day I Bid the Crows Goodbye
11/11/17

It struck me, like the heat underneath
my palms and the love we shared
under the glare, beyond the beats
I long to feel, now snared.

Wish the clock can stop its tick
with roses, thorns, and ******
the heat, another magic trick
going deep, going quick, a strong kick

is fading. yet I ravish you today
with a kiss, or a bliss of bites
with a tease, or a wistful play
a fading, yet no regret.

for I loved you like this heat
with its embrace and curse
I loved you for the beat
but the water quenched my thirst.

like raindrops when the storm passed
with no rainbows, but still gray skies
let make the path on window panes
let live a trace, but leave no face
on silent deaths becoming clear
of the dark paths made from tears

feel the cold embrace of this cage
of the thousand cries unheard
and a hundred wounds still fresh
with every path on window panes
that lead to the cold hard ground,
with a crash that leads to a loss
but gives life to dear earth

we  are dancers of a feast of stories
of life and death and our momentary clouds
like the paths we made  that meets the ground
after the rain has passed

Sa’yo ko unang narinig ang katagang “mahal kita”,
sa labi **** mapula at sa salitang
sinambit nang una tayong magkita
tag-ulan, sa ilalim ng tagpi-tagping ala-aala
“Mahal na mahal kita”.

mahirap at malabo ng mabuo ngunit sapat na ito
ang mga ala-alang kasama ko pag malamig
at ramdam ang paglampas ng hangin sa pinto
at sa anino **** palayo ng palayo

Ngunit nandito pa rin ako para sa’yo
dahil sa mga katagang mahal kita
at sa bawat paglipas ng oras
lagi kong nilalasap ang dati mo ng binigkas

Sa’yo ko unang narinig ang katagang “mahal kita”,
at mahal talaga kita, sapagkat ikaw lamang
wala ng dahilan pa, hanggang
(“Mahal, minahal kita’)
tapos na ang tag-ulan.

The beating started from one to two
once an unending chant for you,
with love and hate and all its colors
speak soft then strong with rings of dolors

the beatings went from three to four
till roses turned to violet skin
she was blindfolded and never keen
till she was left to jump a hill

the beatings went from four to fire,
she knew she loved a liar,
she played her last song of curses
till the beatings stopped
and her strings were veins of blue

The beating was a broken chord
she ended the last note for her pyre
not a tear shed for her cursed lyre