A Baltic atoll nigh
I am but a giant
of enlightenment
as I've been both years
here yet develop
strep in tears despair
days that might
stay when I came to
love our being still
mystery now season
in newly gotten wiles
only there to impress
a red rover machine
and target afresh
dreamscape by canal.

There is something inside me,
lurking deep within the realms
which threatens to overwhelm
me utterly, completely.
Only occasionally
leaving me incapable;
totally vulnerable,
full of insecurity.

After the feeling subsides
what I find most troubling
is the power of this thing
that deep within me resides.
How I am at it's mercy
as it grows ever stronger.
I wonder how much longer
before it will consume me.

Is that presence always doomed.
anticipation of entering another's
life. The hope of them entering yours.
The wait. Knowing effort could
crack the very time they linger.
The fear that distance will cause
opportunity to cease. The decision.
The stop light switches from green
to red. Never seeming to be a cautious
yellow light. Informing you to proceed
carefully.

The feeling is wondrous with wait.
dreary with slight fear, even trepidation.

quite...anticipating.

Hello there, you're familiar to me.
Did you know I exist. Or are you
yet to forget my face as well.

Will you stay in my life or will you fade too,
amongst all the others, old and new.

how wonky a feeling.

very...anticipating..

When time ceases and your world falls apart,
When trepidation clouds your imminent future,
For when everything you ever held onto is lost,
and your thoughts shamble past your once glimmering eyes;
For when you stop moving your dexterous arms and just lay,
You feel pain surging through your veins,
Detriment taking over exuberance
fighting your self doubting mind off of deranged thoughts;

For once you feel the need to close your eyes
and fight off the impassiveness that blocks your sight,
For once you just wish this wound would heal,
For your toiled life to just ease into calmness,
To be ridden off the weight piled on your fragile shoulders;

Your mind seives through various ways
To feel the ubiquitous presence of ethereal light,
To curl up in it's peacefulness and inevitably give into it;
Tranquility takes the place of hurt
like an addictive shot of cannabis dissolving into your system;
You feel the penetrating urge to hold on to it
To reach out to your sliver of hope with your scrawny fingers
and grasp it tight,
Your hope of a world inoculated against the social stigma,
Rid of narcissus and his obnoxiousness;
Where for once in your troubled life you would not have to hide;

You feel your numb fingers closing over something sharp,
Possessed by an unquenchable thirst for freedom,
Wanting to insinuate yourself with the ethereal glimpse of hope;

Your breath lies between the blade of wishful virtuality and reality;
Reality, a now tormented word,
a word defining a world arisen out of
A never satisfying greed for power and erudition;

You fathom your cognisant mind to construe the moment,
To feel a sharp paroxysm of pain, a flush of wrong;
An ardor to redefine reality,
To concoct the mundane world scrupulous,
To write the wrong;

The heart now pumps blood of valiance,
Belligerence to cause insurrection,
A piquant taste to live builds up,
To fight for righteousness and to die of victory,
For it is in our nature to fight;

The blade falls into the pit of cowardice,
And reality has been chosen;
Chivalry triumphs over death
and the **** that time is begins to run rampant;
The crusade soaring in your mind now vanquished,
Your fragmented scorched life now meaningful;

For you have been reborn,
a master of time and chaste;
Reborn into a warrior,
one who has fought off the wards of death;
Whose prudence his armour,
Benevolence his weapon,
Candour his speech,
Dauntless his demeanour and
Intrepid his blood.

a sort of trepidation
that accompanied each butterfly gesture
served as the puncture weapon of a daily wound.
today, the empty hole left within me-
filled with inevitable aftermath.

I'll wallow through the ocean of your absence.

I told you today
in a round about way
that I loved you
I spilt secrets and feelings on that blessed white page
hoping it had been sage
to admit in finality that I love you
now I await
for your response post haste  
as you struggle to figure out my name
and my heart I try to tame
as it flutters and beats
at your chairs every squeak
and I pretend cool
as I curse that once again I let my heart rule
over logic and pride
I need to learn to smite
these whims of adrenaline
and fix my hearts painful regimen
of loving you

It's funny how you use photographs to remember the things you want to remember the best. Using colors and shapes to isolate what you love and to forget about all the rest.

And how I draw out scenes and emotion using poetry and prose. Capturing the minute details and the seemingly superfluous differences and nuances in the way life and love flow.

I know you despise being called an artist and how you claim yourself "lackluster!" in romantic expression. And I know how you call me poet even when I write too much about death and it gives your heart some trepidation.

But, love, the difference between our art isn't in talent or creativity. It's in the vulnerability in my words that I've penned for you. It's the realization that my art isn't good enough for you.

The difference is you don't let your art let someone break you.

It's okay. I never had much hope in it anyway. And besides. I'm horrible.

Five-thirty AM.
Hustle 'n bustle
b e g i n s....
........footfalls
running  u p
and  d o w n
the  stairway
......stomping
.......catching
..........fidgety
elevat­or........
...........voices
...r o a r i n g
s h o u t i n g
...c u r s i n g
.....f a l l i n g
......wavering
....an endless
........series of
..........sounds
..........scaring
......escalating
scaring   even
more.......then
slowing down
hushing..........
fading.............
....filling hours
....til footsteps
...............start
........returning.
Night  comes,
g­reeted, with
Tchaikovsky's
c o n c e r t o ,
bright  lamps,
muted sounds 
.......of spoons
forks....knives
against plates
...tingling dies
giving  way to
tea cups, wine
...........glasses.
........and when
dinner's done.
:::::::::::::::::::::::
when all are in,
when  all have
settled   down.
::::::::::::::::::::::::
n o i s e s........
....are no more,
~~~~~~~~~~
swallowed, by 
the spreading
........Dark.......
:::::::::::::::::::::::
Late nights.....
.....p e a c e.....
a  soft  silence
wall lamps are
mellow-lighted,
...some voices
loud.....others
vaguely heard,
some....fading
into..the..night.
:::::::::::::::::::::::
:­::::::::::::::::::::::
Shortly...........
the rush shall
re commence.
Those   heavy,
loud  footfalls
will    a g a i n
.......t e r r i f y
the old  ones, 
with  t h e i r
......fear of.....
:t h u n d e r:

Up.......down,
down.......up,
........nonstop
shaking........­
floors...........
........ceilings
down..........
..........belo­w.
::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::::::::::
The HALLWAY
....is a straight
Path, a  world,
With  its   own
Moments.....of
b l u e..s k i e s
.l i g h t n i n g.
..........and........
...r o a r i n g...
:t h u n d e r s:
::::::::::::::::::::::::


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan