"awakenings" poems
You were born on a cusp.
friends on the other side
couldn't decide,
Scorpio or Libra.
You yourself,
as constant as the tides.
A tenth sign ram
was blessed to cross
your lovely path
and the ram learned:
Short curly hair
pinned back reveal
asiatic eyes.
As you pass by and by
Time and time hearts race
Chicken salad sandwich,
its moist mayonnaise
is never as delicious
without a pickle.
Grubhub.
No, Scrubhub.
Too content to leave the room.
Yummy Rummy,
food in our tummy.
forever.
Broth, cheese and wine.
Mushrooms and time.
If ever I tasted love,
it was shared with me,
in a recipe.
Sound opinion in scores.
Royal, like the Tenenbaums.
Bill Murray fantastic.
Pink Moon over and over and over.
Divide that by nine.
And now I know,
almost as well as you,
how good Goodfellas is,
even after the tenth time.
Early morning awakenings or
snooze again and again and again.
Paralyzed in a dream or
awoken with a scream,
we tried a routine:
Once parts of a team,
a memory faster than it seemed.
Ran for miles.
A boy and girl in the hall,
amongst the boys and girls
in the hall.
Digital regulars in ecstasy.
Wake next to you a daydreamer.
So, when life gets hard,
and you're feeling down,
don't be so glum,
ignore your doubts,
don't feel left out,
I'll be there for you,
when you need me to.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 5:48 PM UTC
I went from a lover to a liar in a heartbeat;
the flip of a switch as soon as I heard I could get what I'd been craving.
The jolt of electricity through your bloodstream, the feeling of being alive with your senses on fire, the ability to seem untouchable: superhero like even...
Almost nothing compares in that moment, but in the afterglow, when your cape begins to lose its wind and your heart starts to slow, nothing feels worse than pondering it's destined finale.
Discovering your conscience, all the while knowing that no matter how much you love someone, the poison always comes first.
It's a terrible reality, the ability to choose.
And I always choose wrong, down the path of the chemical adventure, knowing that at the end, I always inevitably fall off the cliff.
But it's an obsession: being on top of the world, and no matter how much time passes, or how far I think I've come, she always wins.
It's the slow onset, the clarity, the peaks where everything seems far better than it actually is, but now the dream is over.
I need to let it go or it will consume me; living in a false reality, locked in to my need for perfection.
She used to calm me and make me godlike, but now I've fallen from my pedestal and upon looking up, I see she turns me into the monster I've never wanted to be...
Hiding, in shame, from the soul I love the most. I wish I could tell her, divulge all of my secrets, but the fear of the disappointment on her face is too much for me to bare.
Because I know she could help me,
if I would just tell her the truth.
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 12:39 AM UTC
I've been digging
through this dumpster
far too long
trying to get to the bottom of it all.
Slimey sweet stench
there's my first love
my first pipe
my last light
my first rush
my last gush
my first bet
my last buck
"the game ain't over
until the rent money's gone."
I am down a deep hole
and my only tool is a shovel
I've got that one choice
but to go
down
down
down.
Drunk and dial
Drunk and poetry
how did I get here
how do I get out?
I'm a spiritual wasteland
connected to no one
connected to nothing
My drug
My man
My woman
My casino
The rush comes first
The numbness comes last
until
death, insanity or jail
is within my grasp.
I do what I do
But I am allergic too
you understand
when I do what I do
I break out in handcuffs
jail cells
strapped down to beds
looking around
longing for my dumpster
and
what I might have found.
1st Step
12th Step
I've done them all
though the 13th Step
I liked the best
Sponsors have come and gone
Spiritual awakenings
have all been done
I am back in this dumpster
where I had begun.
There is an exquisite mystery
at the heart of it all
the internal shift
happens
an inside job
The 21 year old's first black out
enough is enough
The 60 year old
on his fifth DUI
going out for one more round.
It is true
I have seen it many times
Recovery can be found
Hope restored
Wisdom in these halls
Peace within these walls
The dumpster closed
and left behind
A ladder falls and arrives
acceptance and gratitude
combine
as they say
"One day at a time."
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 9:57 AM UTC
catch me like a fish
everlasting supplier of light rays-
warming the soul like a cup of hot tea on a sleepy sunday afternoon
- melancholic -
swaying the universe
the mermaids sing in the mornings
mesmerizing the sailors
and i am the singer and the mesmerized
i am free. i am free from the ropes. free from the chains of a dreary existence. i can feel it i can feel it on the tip of my eyelashes with the swells of tears pouring out.
- renewal - - relief -
i am a good girl. listener of tall tales and fantasies. spur of the moment night crawler caller.
i spin a beautiful web of fantastical clouds. from ropes to cakes.
pick your poison.
i am a bad girl. keeper of secrets. silent truths bundled under creative happiness and weakly disguised love affairs.
- blink and it’s over -
i’ll lie in your lap and watch you write-
spinning fantastical tales of glorious awakenings. new beginnings.-
pull my hair up to attention. i am here. i am wanted. want want grab me.
want//need. clever disguises. silent truths. wispy truths.
childhood pencil marks. pig tail sneakers.
truth drops into heads.
eyes drop onto the floor.
teeth sink into lips.
heart drops into stomach.
limbs fold over limbs and the being falls slowly upon itself.
when i wasn’t mine.
she wanted me more than she could stand. stabbed me with a ************* pencil. made my heart drop into my ************* stomach.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 12:15 AM UTC
My heart is pumping
So fast you can visually see my chest thumping
The only sound I hear is a heart beat
Lately I haven't been able to eat
Uncontrollable shaking
Rude awakenings
Uncomfortable thoughts
Distraughts
Staying up late caused by PTSD
I am trying to get better, can’t you see?
I try to fight the battles that go off in my head
Late at night, before I go to bed
I try to keep moving forward and never look back
Wait, I feel like I’m having a heart attack
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 9:15 AM UTC
there was no poem neath my pillow
no poem on my tongue, none from eye envisionaries, no dew gift from my grassy emissaries, parting residue of an unknowable finger touch
nothing stirring, the mother muses mushing their shushing noises,
only breathy quietude, an airy surround sound tissue,
the cadence of intermingled hearts, the mother and the child
two awakenings, one instantaneous, the other restless unhurried slow, but within an impatience to intersect,
the overlap is love stars crossing,
impatience weaponized to make
momma aware her companions refreshed status,
a needy for love’s suckling,
embrace of fresh baked smiles from hot heartedly hearth furnaces
thus a-born a new poem, a welcomed well coming, in words,
the alliance of alliterated words from the interlacing of the mother’s chest heaving and the sniffling joy of a five year old boy reimagining the dreams that crossed from mother to son, and back again, requiring composition and joint authorship of them
*the only and only true authentic authorship,
mother and child, their owned unique
duality of singularity*
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 2:30 PM UTC
How this could have
happened I will
never hear again
but it happened
all the same
exactly this way.
I was walking in
Prairie Creek
surrounded by my
soon to become silent
companions
when I noticed
events so
strange.
I dug my feet
into the dirt
they soon dissolved
and roots were
sprung
a nervous system extending into
the soil, oh the sounds the
smells I felt.
Where my skin once was
bark began to emerge
my fingers became tiny
clones of myself
each speaking different
tongues I could not comprehend
I made out these
words "our time has begun. "
I became a Buddha
on the road
a three quarter
smile on my lips
as my body grew
towards the sun
a thousand years
was now mine
and to it I did
succumb.
I watched the
generations pass
Christs come and
go and come again.
It all meant nothing
to me at all
as long as I have
this fog that nourishes
me and creatures living
in the canopy.
I stand at peace
for centuries
a thousand years
and still my life
is a five minute
dream filled with all
possible intensity
and former attachments
as the impermanence
of the illusion of
time was plain
to see
as human lives whirlwinds of
experience
dust devils
blew by me.
Lightening and fires burned me
but I survived.
Now that I stand in
this silence
lost in the meditation
of dreams
a solitary tree
the last standing
a brand new species
born of evolutions breeding
runs on the ground
dancing on my grave
I remember that
first day
the beginning of my
thousand year awakenings
I think it was only
yesterday.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 10:31 AM UTC
no great awakenings has happened today,
but something small has shifted and my heart
is just a little more free and light than it was yesterday
each day sometimes can feel weighted with life's responsibilities,
and feels like more of a burden than a gift
a subtle shift happens in me when I trust in a God I don't understand to guide me, to where I do not know, but
I know I'm not walking it alone
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
The Picture Window
The vista view never changes but daily.
The naked eye, registers the same distances,
resting objects unmoved, modest alterations
by wind and water are noted, but for intent,
for purpose, the watercolor one would paint
be invariably unvarying as a Swiss Alp.
The subtle nuanced worldview, where the sky
stretches from ceiling to a foot above ground, as
I lay prone neath the coverlet, vista always subtly differing,
from its prior reincarnation, self-reflection demands to know.
Alive & Awake? Yes.
Breathing steady? Yes.
Toes? Still can wiggly to & fro.
My soul?
Presumably ok, as I write, because I write, the
picture window into to my insight, though oft blurry,
yet intact, making discernible the changes in light,
temperature and heart rate, as the body/soul contraption modulates, just as the gradient of daylight shifts lighter and higher, with a rising sun bringing more clarity to our interactive encounters with our environments..
The picture window internalized, much the same,as
the vista, subtle modest changes, colorations variegated,
are registered. Today is mostly cloudy overcast, and shall remain so for the foreseeable future, which be about two days hence. Not unsurprisingly, methinks, the future tends to be cloudy.
Beyond that peripheral, no one can say, our macular envisioning only gets weaker,time is a tough taskmaster
and uncertainty is it’s own principle.
But I can say, forecast from well under the comforter,
that more than less, where less is more, this picture window,
ex and in, shall remain, unchanged for the remainder of my years that fortune shall provide, and will & would grant me awakenings to the ex-sight and in-sight of a sculpted landscape, of negative entropy, where disorder minimal.
My musings end here, unless you still wish, come the morrow,
what the marrow the day reveals, what the window will spill,
new and exciting, subtly unchanged, and always different.
Caution: The injection of caffeine may dramatically alter
the windows perspective, as the exogenous always trumps the
endogenous.
5:50 AM
P.S. Making coffee clarifies: If the vista in +/- unchanging,
then, all my personal, own horizons are immortal as well.
Jun 4, 2023
Jun 4, 2023 at 6:34 AM UTC
Mnemonic...
Over my mug of steaming coffee,
...i see cookies and a fruit...sliced,
to freshen my breath after my coffee break....
one glance...
one unexpected glance, took me back... to
when i decided to do something for myself,
to be happy.....and to be somebody....but,
finally....i fought the desire, to be defiant...
those awakenings, and newfound feelings,
still haunt my evenings...the hurting, somewhat
changed me, and my beliefs.......i realized that,
at some point in one's life, a chance moment
unfolds on a landing...clear to the eyes...on a mission,
to change attitudes...to erase wrong impressions,
triggered by unpleasant experiences....i have also
discovered....at the right time, somebody comes,
......like an angel with hidden wings...to soften
our hardened minds....to melt our frozen hearts,
ease our tensed opinions...offer us a healing balm.
sometimes, a place, or a face, becomes a kind of paper
that can't be crumpled, or destroyed...so hard to forget.
anyone...anything, that strikes the heart hard,
easily comes back, with the slightest reminder,
catches you..........unprepared....
this fruit on the table, in silence, it just sits there,
...unaware of its being mnemonic...doesn't matter,
if it's fresh, rotten, or candied...a plum, apple or pear
....................would prompt me, to remember,
over my mug of steaming coffee...
Sally
Copyright July 27, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 10:40 PM UTC
moments of clarity
come and go
spiritual awakenings are
always happening now
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
.
*The sensual caress
twilight mist impearled flesh
alighting a feral desire
within blossoming spring petals
The newness of uncovered skin
a sweetness on unsated lips ,
the taste of passion and salty *******
with hastened breath
sighs do brush with warm ****** breeze
across my naked chest
wild feathers sweeten
tender touch
... emanating
sensual awakenings
Arousing buried desires
unable to hold back
constant cravings
the inevitable currents
pummeling shameless floodgates
with arising untamed springtides swell
Fleshly enslaved yen --
energy sprouts tingling sensations
nascent buds blossoming deeply
flourishing exploding flames
bursting flush
... deliciously white hot
In an unstoppable carnal moment
passion betides
like the surging sea ;
Rising and falling crescendos
unleashed waves crashing ,
drowning in the rhythmic undertow
interlaced bodies heaving adrift in the moment
like entangled seaweeds
in a riptide
as the rolling thunder storm
dances across invigorated tides
with a surging cadence of cresting waves bloom
caught in the Rhythm and the Sea*
✩ ✩ ☼ ✩ ✩
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 8:23 PM UTC
In the pale of your shadows
In the absence of your light
reckless words left unspoken
lead fingertips to undress
under the crescent moon
and the awakenings of night.
In memory of your passing
In the kudos of your heart
abstinence of time left to falter
the clutches of desire
and the tears of regret
that sees two loves apart.
In the starlight of your beauty
In the creativity of your life
In another world
and the sliding of doors to here
I can but imagine possibility
without the ruination of reality
and the fear of unbridled strife.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:16 PM UTC
I found you half-dead.
In your eyes,
pupils were still giving away the scent of love
Breaking the harsh silence and the dark shapes of ****** footprints
Painted on your face.
The line of your body, turned into a mosaic bloomed scars,
Awakened a yearning inside of me, chopped my heart
In the timid kisses and gave away the color of your veins
Scattered on the fabric of our first awakenings.
In the depths of your flesh I'm trying to find the deafened sobs
I've listened to the dreamy nights
Under the veil of your skin,
Hidden from all sadness hungry of my tears.
I'm leaning your bloodless fingers on my lips
Listening to your presence.
By kissing your ******* I'm diving my touch in your naked
Lungs, spread out like a butterfly
Imprisoned inside your glass body.
With my tongue I'm discovering the taste of your neck,
Decorated with a red line
Of my love.
I'm biting your vocals,
Remembering of your laughter that still echoes
In the spaces of my thoughts.
You're still beautiful, safe in my arms.
You give away your happiness with a smile on your torn face.
Your love reaches me through a mild rushes of wind.
I'm leaning my cheek on your ankles,
The softness of your flesh overtakes me by passion.
And you are giving me your last stirrings of life
That you don't need with the tenderness that my breath is giving you.
I lie down next to you on the bed soaked in red,
I'm overtaken by the smell of rotting roses and smooth juices
In which we sink together.
I'm putting the remains of your waxy face on my shoulder,
I'm choked by soft closeness of your tangled hair
Packed on the pillow.
And I feel your gratitude,
While the sweet sounds of loving
Float through our world,
Safe and bloomed.
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
Osiris is not a viable option,
The rays of him are toxic,
One must err on the side of caution,
One mustn't take in the toxins.
Not with a serpents gaze of night ,
I am the gleam in their very eyes,
The twilight of people's lives,
The shine dwindling with time.
Street lights conjoin with the void,
As loss and gain meet with choice,
The old teach young about voice,
Lack thereof and unspoken poise.
Lines have gathered across the head,
Along with emotions, swirling regrets,
Primal fear creeps up ones neck,
The remainder of memories to forget.
I haven't slept for I have wept
I
Am
No
King
I haven't sang for I have pain
I
Am
No
King
I haven't laughed for I am ******
Keep
On
Looking
I haven't smiled for I am vile
You
Won't
Find
Me
For she dwells within me
A potion within a vial
Searching for answers,
Answers that have long since forgotten the questions,
As words have forgotten poems,
Poems that have forgotten books,
Books that have forgotten shelves,
And you, who has forgotten me,
Although you live here, my Isis.
You do not have the mind,
To know that I dream of you,
With me, as one in the same,
Glimmers of hope which make way,
For back breaking pain, and disdain
As you say, my name, I sob, I pray,
You encounter the soul provider,
Whom you alone, deserve.
Deciphering the hieroglyphics,
The depth of my chambers,
Such an undertaking,
Is only for those not wary,
Of rude awakenings and laws,
Forsaking the freedom of my bonds,
Which hold my place, along the gate,
Which controls my fate.
Bonds of loathing and taunting
Specters of faceless smiles
Messages of nameless moans
Titles and spiteful rivals,
Bring cries of despair and tears,
Which shatter the floor beneath,
Uncovering layers of disgust,
Skin deep, is the source of vanity.
Vanity meaning fleeting importance,
For it, death, life, joy, fear, hope,
And melancholy; know nothing,
As they are simply the effects,
But not the causes of the ruckus,
The frozen coating of ocean surface,
Ignorant to the swelling below,
Waiting for a chance to bring Diablo.
I
Am
No
King
You
Won't
Find
Me
Strip
Me
Of
My
Crown
And
Bury
Me
My
Queen
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
Social relations.
Fading, dissipating.
Regenerated and rebuilding.
Everything held deep spills out over past memories and future broken promises.
Talking of brighter days with different time lines.
Watching, talking, passively dissecting minds of those like mine.
All investigating our inner workings and imagined surroundings.
It's in the waking hours of the dawn. It's when time is irrelevant.
When the new day brings nothing but revelations and unfiltered ramblings.
Anything to fill this void.
The morning air feels stale compared to renewed awakenings.
Constantly picking at the scab.
Digging for one last laugh.
A final smile.
The perfect ending for the night we might forget.
We forge new mental pathways and plan play dates.
Evolutionary socialization.
Cigarettes serve as reality checks and mirrored reflections.
Open eyes burning for something tangible.
Awake and unaware.
Filtering through the nonsense and intellectual genius.
Trying to read the dusted lessons buried between advice and elaborate fairy tales.
We speak of ideas.
We speak of all the things that rest on the ledge of our understanding.
We dream of what it is and what it could be.
All seeking growth.
All staying just within the caution tape.
Ponderous wondering of connections and false enlightenment.
I remain skeptical even though I've felt it.
My mind has always held an untrusting grudge against my intuition.
In the end it's just another day.
Contributions minimal.
Lessons learned... Still settling their sediments.
They're Remnants.
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 2:29 AM UTC
Carpe Diem
funny boy
did you wait
till it was too late
hurry hurry
worry worry
you took life
in big giant bites
and then had to stop
to break
only when you
defeated yourself
hurry hurry
worry worry
but even then
after breaking
you got up and overcame
your life and art were amazing and never the same
race hard then fall or stall
and then
once again
get up
and give it your all
you did it
again and again
be extraordinary
hurry hurry
worry worry
never the same
look how you overcame
Good Will Hunting
Dead Poets
Jumanji
Mork from Ork
Patch Adams
Awakenings with De Niro
Aladdin
Death to Smoochy
Insomnia
Peter Pan
Mrs Doubtfire
Good Morning Vietnam
Jakob the Liar
hurry hurry
worry worry
I have to stop
not because I am out of art
there are many more
but because my fingers
are tired of typing titles
Peter Pan
you stayed young
fought the dark
and won many triumphs
again and again
hurry hurry
worry worry
you ran an amazing race
and a pace for two lifetimes
in the end the dark caught you
but you left behind
a mark of amazing art
"gather ye rosebuds while ye may" - Robert Herrick
Carpe Diem
Rest funny man
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
Your thoughts can cage you or release you
Mind can give you a new realization
Or sweep you under a deep spell of hallucination
Imaginary demons can seize your thoughts
Depends on what our thoughts are
Repeated thoughts can become a reality
Facing at fine surprises or rude awakenings
Feed the mind with right thoughts
Let not unwarranted thoughts sneak in
Mind is powerful, subconscious a powerhouse
Thoughts in slumber suddenly becomes a reality
Choose your reality, for it depends on the thoughts
A sparkling and clear mind harbors positivity
Positive thoughts will steer you towards your destination
Such is the power of thoughts; we delve not much into them
Mind the thoughts and you will celebrate life
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Sunrises in your eyes,
Silences of the dawning skies,
the grace when you stride on by.
Soft songs
your child sings in rhyme.
The rainbow
when the rain is still,
the silence of my heart when
I lay with you -
Birds that fly so free,
the ocean wave
as it drifts towards me.
Winds blowing high in the trees.
Sleep as it descends on me.
Beauty in the flowers
we hold within.
Nature's course,
it comes and goes,
we know.
There's beauty in
our harmony
our poetry
our one singing voice.
There is beauty
in the lives we
live, as they
run
their course.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
Maybe someday people will speak of a great group of logical poets. It will be a group though. Maybe a help group for the more fragile ones. Not the type of fragile you are...the type that breaks. Carry on army, and tend to your fellow army members' wounds. Maybe someday you will see that you have fake bullets. Fully automatic, with hollow points and full metal jackets
You like my poem, then i'll like yours
we don't have to call it reading
even if yours could heal my sores
mine would be all i'm needing
i like your whole style of no style
nothing to do with form or function
you say it's not a one way street
when i see you at every junction
to be honest, it fills me with fear
hitting like becoming my being
then i will get roped into even more
when less is all i'm seeing
because this group is the real world, on a page, in cyberspace. My mind isn't real, because you can't see it, and it can't hit the like button for me. I must be as insane as you think i am.
It tickles my pickle to see the same poets that pointed at me years ago writing the same exact poem over and over. Talking about writers block like it's real. I stick to my guns and my guns are automatic. If you have a block, you're not a writer. You are still used for building though. Building what you hate, building what i love. I know some are blocks of **** but they fertilize, at least. Thank you truly. If you hadn't kept putting me to sleep, i wouldn't have had so many awakenings. I do see the good, in blocks. One thing about a big block is that it gets cut into pieces, to make smaller blocks. Then you get mixed in with other blocks that you want no part of. I guess then, you and the other blocks just stand for that one building. You know...the 1 million square foot ranch. It has a basement, but no upstairs.
Oct 12, 2021
Oct 12, 2021 at 11:04 PM UTC
Tight embraces in dimly lit buses,
night skies oppressive in the dormant freedom
of brightly glowing stars,
and through it all my mind shatters,
crystal upon stark tile floors;
go ahead, try to sweep it up.
We all know you'll find pieces
hidden in corners forevermore.
Reserve me, conserve me,
trap me in conversations that are real
in their own plasticky way.
Convention, protection,
radioactive never-ending hunger,
all is fearless until the time for courage arrives,
and then you are still,
trapped inside your own tobacco stained mouth,
empty and aching with only a
theoretical formula for satisfaction.
Satiate my needs (as I covet yours)
and enter my mind
through gaps in my body,
my hands are dry, my fingertips numb,
the taste of them salty upon the cracks in my lips.
Retract, retrospect,
retro clothing and high heeled leather boots,
walk the night through a fog of shame
and search out a gleam of hope,
but wait-
that's just light pollution.
The ground is dry but the sky is crying,
where in space lies the disconnect?
I'm spinning, I'm screaming,
I'm waiting for an end
but every day begins anew,
the sky grotesque in its airiness
and empty fullness
and the moon waiting only long enough
to greet the sun,
bowing its silvery crowned head.
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
Dear porcelain, would I were perfect as you art,
Not in dull translucence do you shine,
Gleaming brilliance cloaked yet unmarred,
Mirror mirror of conscious dreams of mine.
The distant chime, chime of deathly knells,
Of shattered pebbles down scented lunar peaks,
Of soft crystal frost into the veil they fell,
Let my masks abscond, leaving eyelids weak.
Such sweet ache plagues my nightly mares,
Loveless lone splendor beneath blacken skies,
Nap 'tween the orchards ripe with pears,
Awakenings torn asunder the happy lies.
Sail-less ketch off candle-lit cavern shores,
Colossal etched symbols of Hecate's spells,
Till desire and woe to oblivion they soar,
Will gladly blunder through all seven Hells.
Absent from day's eye are the auric beams,
Silent be the hymn from above, off-tune flutes,
In motion I stand in fear of reluctant dreams,
Wounded peregrine looking at the open blues.
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 3:01 PM UTC
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
At the threshold, or doorstep
Of a ship...a gallery,
A house...a library,
It could be a forest, or a museum,
A new school or shop, a church,
An office, a factory,
On entering a new city, or country,
Take a bucket, or two
It's all up to you
There are lots of new stuff to learn,
Leave eyes, ears wide open
Be free to explore...don't worry,
Mind is a sponge,
A lot it could absorb---it is eager, for
Discovery is an adventure,
It beckons,
Knowledge awaits,
Just remember---discernment is vital.
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It could be a birthday bash
A wedding, a wake
A seminar, or convention
First day of classes, new job
Or, a simple get-together
Where awakenings and enlightenment occur
Where you meet new faces, new friends
Old friends to reunite with
Maybe, someone to fall in love with
Could be somebody warm
Or cold...may be aloof
Brave...may be broken
Discernment is always vital.
When standing at the threshold of a heart,
Be more sensitive
Be more careful with your bucket
No one feels the air there, except you
No one knows what could happen
at the end of your visit
For, discovery is always an adventure
It beckons....knowledge awaits
It could build...or break a future.
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So put your hands in your pockets
But keep the fires burning
Be thirsty for knowledge
Of poison, better beware
Keep in mind: discernment is vital
It's all up to you...for,
At every doorstep
There await buckets.
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Sally
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Copyright December 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 7:01 AM UTC