(not much of a poem)
Thrice awake, asleep, again awake
Something always wakes me up
The phone sounded, nobody answered
Procession and vigil ended
Late fireworks echoed through this Black Saturday night..
I'm deciding: to cease, or not to cease
I can't find my desired peace
To find lost journals, or just burn what's left, old and new
To start or not to start, a life anew
To rise, or just lie through this hot evening
My late mother said then: Black Saturdays are days...rarely ending
Black Saturdays are for resurrecting...celebrating...
This late night, it is segue-ing, to an Easter morning
While dogs are barking, while gecko is calling
Cats are quiet, where are they stashed? where could they be hiding?
Here...now... I am a car, my motor is hushed...but i am still running...
Sally
Copyright April 4, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 6:28 AM UTC
(not much of a poem)
Thrice awake, asleep, again awake
Something always wakes me up
The phone sounded, nobody answered
Procession and vigil ended
Late fireworks echoed through this Black Saturday night..
I'm deciding: to cease, or not to cease
I can't find my desired peace
To find lost journals, or just burn what's left, old and new
To start or not to start, a life anew
To rise, or just lie through this hot evening
My late mother said then: Black Saturdays are days...rarely ending
Black Saturdays are for resurrecting...celebrating...
This late night, it is segue-ing, to an Easter morning
While dogs are barking, while gecko is calling
Cats are quiet, where are they stashed? where could they be hiding?
Here...now... I am a car, my motor is hushed...but i am still running...
Sally
Copyright April 4, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
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