At first I thought I was born to succeed,
Which was good and great because I lack luster for greed
To give and to cherish was largely my creed,
Life blooms everywhere so why covet its seed?
For shame and for glory, my truth was a story.

  A story, not a fable, one with use in its cradle
No. Not my truth, my feeble fiction. That to give and to gain was no contradiction.

With strong head and strong body I’ve wasted my days,
To think beau intention wouldn’t lead me astray.

You see I’ve done all I could in the space of this mind,
To unravel the hope to create world’s in kind.

Eureka! I had it, for one second’s perception,
A prospect in favour of catastrophic direction.

Though its gone I still taste it, like the vacuum in glass,
My pious mis-deception that my chance has not passed.

1:00 am, 3:00 am ... most nights,
thirty minutes without warning,
restless air, chokes the pipes
when controlled, it explodes in bits
of yellow, orange , dark red and gray
skull seems to crack ... or , is it breaking now?
a darkness follows a wheezing,
desiring to spew all malaise  
expelling bad air, while chasing fresh air
praying a stillness soon rules .... . but , no,
the painful exertion persists
that  disturbing noise just goes on,
and racks one's whole being ... one's world
every rib quivers ... every fiber throbs  
eyes and veins start to bulge
as if to burst on their own...

,, ,, , for a while, a calm occurs ... yet ,
another dreaded episode lurks...

on a dark, restless night such as this,
one can only imagine
~ ~ ~ the undulating waves ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ and the blue waters ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ of the tranquil sea ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~
Sally
~ ~ ~

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 20, 2019

#dreaded episodes  #malaise  #severe cough

Pigment of the evening
overwhelming, by thought
artfully winding, and weaving,
for naught.
Though your vision is endless
your colour needs work,
it’s drab, unto darkness,
your pallet’s berserk.

You must change;

You must change how you’re feeling.
From bottom to ceiling,
I swear that you’re healing.
Disregard the unfeeling,
forget that you’re reeling.
Do not be caught kneeling
in thoughts now congealing-
to naught-
but the pealing-
of bells;

Or be lost.

Not to life,
but to cause.
Draped in strife,
trapped in was.

I am waiting to die
as I sit here staring,
blind, and uncaring
I am waiting to die.

For I once had dreamed
of a world where it seemed
that someone like me had a future;
I don’t

Though not for my failings
but simply for boredom-
as my mind is ailing
I pray for post-mortem.