Life happened
And dust settled on silence
Nothing could be said
Nothing could be heard

But memories
Could be felt

Then I'll be stuck in the epicenter
Of a very catastrophic outbreak

I'll be exposed
Maimed
and wonder if technology
Is the cause or savior of my fate

I won't listen
and settle on a very reasonable ignorance

I'll cling to God
Like we always do
And wonder if I'll go back when this is over

I'll blame everyone but myself
Rant and explore probabilities

I'll do what we do best
I'll be human

God is Love—I dare say. But what a mischievous devil Love is!
~Samuel Butler~ (1612–1680)



What can it be this act so grand
that one can taste it through dark skies  
and even when a baby dies
love beats inside a mother's cries

What is this love of Heroes
that when the world has gone insane
it rights the wrongs inside your brain  
and fills your soul like rain

What is this thing that we all love
that gives us breath and life
is it a tool that ends all strife
or acts of God under a knife

What can it be this word so deep
that seeps you to the bone
its LOVE alone
that  saves, then brings you home.

* * * *

My eyes can't possibly roam tonight,
tonight is my night to gaze at the sky,
the sky is decked with milky areas,
milky areas that connive with the clouds.

the clouds, however, can't hide the moon,
the moon, it surely rules this starry night.

this starry night... i am left distraught,
distraught, with labored, strained eyes
strained eyes are unable to wander,
to wander? how? with a limited view?
a limited view of tonight's show of stars,
of stars and moon, with no pouring rain,
no pouring rain on this monsoon night!
::::::::
this monsoon night, a poem is lethargic,
lethargic, floating on spiritless waters.
:::::::::::~~~
it ceases to flow beyond its first line,
its first line...refuses to expand tonight.
::::::::::::::  :::::   ::::::::::   :::::::::
tonight, poem and i will take a break.
::::::::::::::::::::  *    ::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::­:::::::       *      ::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::       *     *       :::::::::::::::
:::::::::::     *     🌕 *  *        ::::::::::::
::::::::           *    *        *         :::::::::
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::­::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
(That starry night from years ago, caught
  my eye through a small kitchen window.
  My view of said night was like my poem
  then...limited, uncooperative, stubborn,
  it refused to go beyond its first line.)


sally b

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
  October 31, 2021