Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
If dreams occur because reality shifts into sequences and give a human being series of the strange specific pathway to open the doors of truth over desires and fantasy over morality that sometimes predicts the future of someone, it may look like something out of a classic painting, or Van Gogh's, or Breton's manifesto surrealism or even the impressionist Claude Monet — or simply falling off a building.

Though in dreams, someone will say it is their escapade, their haven, their call of past, their deja vus and jamais vu — but the occurrence of dreams are a horror to someone. And that someone is me.

Nobodies are like masses of droplets of raindrops collapsing on the ground and vanishing like smoke; they lit as the fire and at the same time, water as it is called the rain. Nobodies are treated as no faces in a dream. They represent the being of a human in the realm of this world. Sometimes, they are the persona of our hidden self, sometimes, they are feelings, a place, or a person.

Although nobodies can have faces, it is often that they remain clueless and distinct faces. Faint like a whisper, their touch is almost as the ghostly one and in the gist of it, it is as if they never touch us.

And we forget about their existence. I wonder if nobodies are considered to exist in our realm but are used as a subject to define meanings behind our waking life?

I want to be somebody in someone's waking life. To escape the amenities of the horror the somebodies are facing. I want to be there to breathe a small fresh air and be like a little fairy guiding someone who lost their way.

I guess then in dreams, nobodies want to escape too.
After a month of being gone here, I am back with this piece. More like a thought for this day. I am glad I have a lot of drafts like this.
Some minds fail to fathom our reasons.
...."Why do we write poetry?"

because...there's an energy,
a force, a small voice within,
consistently  prodding us
to share our thoughts, feelings,
our reactions to life's situations
and circumstances.

it matters not,
when senseless thoughts
are first to flood one's mind,
at the right time, the right
words and phrases, shall fall
into their proper places;
inspiration flashes like lightning
clear like thunder roaring
but, soundless, like first drops of snow
falling...we write on, until...we grow,

'til we learn how to turn an arid meadow
into a field, amber with ripeness...aglow,
ready to harvest...ere heavy rains flow.

we compare life with the changing tides  
of the sea...we re-live hell, with soaring fires,
lead our readers to imagine, as we vividly describe,
a life of half hell...and half paradise,
to teach.......to touch others' lives.

our words could redeem
a soul or two...emancipate them,
raise their confidence...embolden them
we can help them learn about freedom.

a life of fire and water, blending,
is where colorful poetry begins.

we write, for love,
we write...out of love.


sally b

Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 31, 2021
Sliding across this glass-like water
Feeling free, at last
Forgetting all worries
Burdens flown away
Light as a bird
Floating under the clouds
Snow flakes and ice skates
Running around
My mind is unsure whether it is the true mother of its thoughts or merely their surrogate?
The soft pink tongue spits
Poison and nectar as per
The situation...
Was trying to write it as a four liner:
The soft pink tongue
Is always on the run.
It is as cool as an ice
And as fiery as the sun...

But it ended up as a haiku....
Was inspired by a very famous saying : don't be the slave of ur tongue but make the tongue ur slave...😅
"It's funny, How things always come full circle"... This was the single line I had wrote for a poem that didn't have a title and never posted and is still a draft to this day. I had forgotten ever writing it, Yet it is very true. Many believe that surviving your lowest point, Rock bottom, Means things can only become easier. That is never the case, You merely learn how to live with it, The memories, The mistakes. I know that I haven't posted here in a long time, And that mostly is because I've been on writers block, And running. Running from myself, The past, The memories, And mistakes because I don't know how to face them. To face myself. While yes, I could turn this into some poem with lots of imagery, Metaphors, Xcetera, Like how I have had them in the past, It would only be me running. Distractions. Distractions from the main point of the poem. In another poem talking about a glass of water, I mentioned that you sometimes have to look at the whole picture to notice the tiny details, I wrote this because if you focus too much on the tiny details. You will always be blinded to the whole painting. I got into writing poetry due to a quote that I once read in a book; "Learn about art, Captain. Once you understand a species art, You understand that species". This is a Star Wars quote for those of you that don't know. The reason why this got me into writing poetry is because I've always considered poetry a art and I was hoping that I could finally understand myself is it. Only, That isn't the case it seems. I will continue writing "poems" here and there if you can even call what I post here poems, But will most likely stay quite like I have been, Until I am almost completely forgotten once again. I guess in the end, I was correct though, Things do always come full circle, Don't they?

I guess in the end, It will all fit together.
In the end, It will all fit together.
I fell. Hard.

On the floor.

It was gravity's fault.

I did nothing wrong.

I am heavier than I seem.

The sky won't tuck me in.
Next page