#potpourri
I'm collecting dead wildflowers in a jar.
I've been watching their color fade,
wondering just how dull they
may grow at the end of each day.
I leave them in my windowsill
and let the sun drain them of sustenance.
It's quite interesting how easily
an item of livelihood
can lead to such tribulation.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 2:46 AM UTC
Poetry Is...
...a journey
...to magical places
never seen....never been to...
...places...we don't wish
to be...
places...we'd rather be...
...a palette...
paints the world
black...white...
yellow....green...blue...
...white doves fly somewhere
some places...
red covers the atmosphere
...a bucket
of faces...names...moments
we remember
or forget
....a potpourri...
of sweet nothings
curses
promises, broken
unheard conversations
...of bleeding hearts,
feelings reciprocated,
smiles, escaping from
contented lips
...of lovers, riding
tandem bikes
flying kites
planning
dreaming...
unending
...of grips
loosening
leaving...
still, we breathe
still, we exist...
Poetry is anything...tangible...invisible
Poetry is US....the WORLD....
(10W X 10)
Sally
Copyright October 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Nov 2, 2015
Nov 2, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC