#resurrecting
A phoenix is...
Extended ash, through unending life,
Darkness clouds the happiness of distant days, as eternal life
might be cursed by the flames of hell, yet she is always resurrecting,
Like a spectator, she watches life rise and fall, alike day and night,
Comparable to the smoke which thins it's trail as it travels into the distant sky, yet never truly dying never truly disappearing, living on.
Such is the fate of one who is imperishable, it is alonely existence,
Scared to bond but filled with hope she keeps her head up high,
Because the majestic, azure sky is always a source of hope and bliss,
This makes her fight on, although this battle will never end,
Believing there is a future, in which she someday will rest happily,
Misery and hatred burn up in her flames, which then fall into the darkness of a deep sin which has found its occurance in the long past,
As her body scorches into a blaze of immortality, recurring memories soar, illuminating the land and guiding her through the long night,
Even if all what is lost can be found again, it will perish, transiently.
For now all what is left, is but immortal smoke.
~ Umi
May 6, 2018
May 6, 2018 at 2:18 PM 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
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 6:28 AM UTC
And what of the dead.
they disappear suddenly,
but they are only gone after months and years have passed, once the living have forgotten.
They live in the darkest furthest parts of our minds, and it's on the coldest nights that we remember them,
in tears we resurrect the dead from their sleep.
Bringing them alive once again in our minds until old scents once taken for granted fill our nostrils, and blurry faces flash before our eyes,
and we mistake distant noises for the calls of our dead loved ones... Whispering our names as twilight approaches.
And it is in this twilight that we fret, when there is neither daylight nor darkness, when all things are suspended in a moment that calls for reminiscing.
Remembering, remembering, because we hate to forget. Hate to let their memories slip away so that we cannot recollect them when loneliness is descending upon us.
But they fade through generations and slowly they are forgotten, because the unforgettable are no longer remembered by the ones who can’t forget, because the ones who can’t forget pass away, and the ones who can't forget are forgotten by those who are forgetful.
So soon and sooner than we think they are gone forever, like a breeze in summer they will be forgotten in winter,
like falling stars that hold so much hope, disappearing off the horizon leaving you,
like birds soaring in the sky, a sight to see until they fly further and further away until your eyes lose them in the altitude and they are gone forever.
Only then do the dead truly disappear.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 6:05 AM UTC
Contemplating
the
elusive word
with pen in hand
like
a
soldier
guards his sword
gauging
fervor
"love and war"
.
In the end only time will tell
heaven-bound
or
cryptic
hell
stains on the conscience will remain
resurrecting
a
prosaic name.
Aug 26, 2021
Aug 26, 2021 at 3:23 PM UTC
Resurrecting Passion
by Michael R. Burch
Last night, while dawn was far away
and rain streaked gray, tumescent skies,
as thunder boomed and lightning railed,
I conjured words, where passion failed ...
But, oh, that you were mine tonight,
sprawled in this bed, held in these arms,
your ******* pale baubles in my hands,
our bodies bent to old demands ...
Such passions we might resurrect,
if only time and distance waned
and brought us back together; now
I pray that this might be, somehow.
But time has left us twisted, torn,
and we are more apart than miles.
How have you come to be so far—
as distant as an unseen star?
So that, while dawn is far away,
my thoughts might not return to you,
I feed your portrait to the flames,
but as they feast, I burn for you.
Published in Songs of Innocence and The Chained Muse. Keywords/Tags: resurrecting, passion, desire, lust, *** night, dawn, rain, thunder, lightning, bodies, ******* arms, portrait, flames
Aug 3, 2020
Aug 3, 2020 at 3:55 AM UTC
Resurrecting Passion
by Michael R. Burch
Last night, while dawn was far away
and rain streaked gray, tumescent skies,
as thunder boomed and lightning railed,
I conjured words, where passion failed ...
But, oh, that you were mine tonight,
sprawled in this bed, held in these arms,
your ******* pale baubles in my hands,
our bodies bent to old demands ...
Such passions we might resurrect,
if only time and distance waned
and brought us back together;
now
I pray these things might be, somehow.
But time has left us twisted, torn,
and we are more apart than miles.
How have you come to be so far—
as distant as an unseen star?
So that, while dawn is far away,
my thoughts might not return to you,
I feed your portrait to the flames,
but as they feast, I burn for you.
Published by Songs of Innocence and The Chained Muse. Keywords/Tags: resurrecting, passion, desire, lust, *** night, dawn, rain, thunder, lightning, bodies, ******* arms, portrait, flames
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 2:53 AM UTC