"gusty" poems
On a gusty autumn night
Another husband was swept,
Somber under the porch light,
Abigail watched and wept.
No men were happy,
As they dealt with poor Abby –
Day in and day out,
So miserable and naggy.
Nine is such a tender age
For a father to leave his daughter,
In horror, Abby waved,
Her mind underwater.
Crimes of parents, what a shame
Those with good ones count your blessings,
Lest we forget little Abby’s pain
And teach our children similar lessons.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 12:34 AM UTC
The rains beat wildly
against the hard earth;
seeking entrance to the womb
that gave them birth.
Causing flash flooding,
in gullies all around;
minor flooding in
several parts of town
The gusty winds blow
havoc, with all things light;
enabling some of them,
to rise in unexpected flight.
Tumbling in the rain swept street,
they spin and race in fury;
like startled things they fly,
in one big, storm-filled hurry.
Monsoons hit the Arizona plains,
dust storms, hail and lightning,
thunder booms her mighty voice,
when close, it's rather frightening.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
#*The Arabian Sea
A sprightly sight to behold
The cascading Sunbeams veil the sea in a platinum shimmer
The gusty wind blows
Sparkling diamonds roll up on the ocean waves
The golden Sun unravels the beauty of the bejewelled Sea
The picturesque Mumbai Skyline
Gloriously, rises up in the evening Sky
The mellowed Sun ,beauteous as an orange Rose
Leisurely dips down at the horizon
The Sky cools down to Prussian blue
The stars glimmer across the sky in the dim lights
It's showtime
Bedazzled
I quietly sit and watch the magical scenes unfold*#
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 4:16 PM UTC
#***All through the summer
Little brother trees
And
The gusty
Big sister breeze
Played in the sun
They had ample fun
The little boy trees, wore a dusty crust
And shower, they must
Lest their leaves, yellowed
Transpire to rustle in summer heat
A drizzle nor a sprinkle
Mother rain
Chose to shower
The mode she set to power
Drenched and dripping wet
The little boy trees with trembling leaves, sneezed
The cool
Big sister breeze
Lovingly caressed
And blow dried
The little brothers trees
Fresh and perfumed
The little boy trees
Stood tall in trousers brown
And
Lovely, minty green tees***#
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC
Today......in some places, heavy rains and
gusty winds rule, no way to control them
today, here where i am....sun beams with
fire.........hands keep fanning the hot spell
away, i think of ice...of snow falling from
heaven....touching the skin with coldness
that freezes the sadness in our heads...we
slowly become aware.........silently, gently
it fills spaces...seeming weightless.......yet
it soothes feelings....every drop, a comfort
we ponder more, as it amasses....painting
hills, mountains, with immaculate white
all over.....as if choking, but never slaying
cleansing........healing.......even the human
heart and mind, from bad energy......from
stubborn dirt......from being broken.....the
sparkle of white and the refreshing cold
bring clarity to one's darkened thoughts
a respite....a shedding of old, broken skin
much like new existence..............a rebirth.
Sally
Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. bayan
September 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 10:16 PM UTC
Her branches hung low
to the ground
They brushed the dirt
that they sat upon
How beautiful is pain
when it grows
It has a way to hang
those gentle woes.
See that tree all alone
yet so full?
Her shadows weep
in the bristles of doom
Then the sun comes to play
in the cold bushy monsoon.
As gusty sighs sway her eyes
to greet the galloping moon.
Jan 18, 2019
Jan 18, 2019 at 6:45 PM UTC
Hair
Gusty wind blows
thick gray clouds are heavy
....rain is out of season
but...impending
....i have no scarf
...no umbrella
to cover my head
.....but, i worry not......
...................
every strand
of my short hair
is wrapped with your soft kisses
and whispers of sweet nothings
.....................
your voice,
your words
spread all over my head
and there rests.....and sticks
......with every
...........thin brown strand...
......................
i hear the gentle tones of your soft kisses
feel the warmth of your breath
your whispered promises
are reassuringly clear
they form a canopy...a bonnet that protects
and reminds
.....you are always with me.....
...i am never alone...
......................
......I welcome the wind and the rain......
Sally
Copyright May 19, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
5.3k
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
4.9k
It is a tell of
two adored in historic past
“Their life was bumpy
No one allowed them to tie the knot!
They were lucky
Times permit them to get nearer!
In the fullness of time,
They are happy
Since
Their new life is starts up!
They are starry
As
crops in their field are growing up!
They are brawny
Seeing
Her haulage to a new hope!
Their hopes are turns to gusty
Draught spread out
Crops ruined up
and in the bolt from the blue
He breathes his last!
She is becoming leggy
Tears and torn encircled
People started to blame!
All of a sudden
A magic brings Mosey
A birds comes in and
tell ‘I am here now,
Going sing everyday for you
and our up bring!’"
Then onwards
People in the hills
label birds calls are
the songs of their dearest one !
Now, birds are becoming honey
to everyone!!
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC
*You are the painting feather
and I am the canvas you draw on
With your artistic hand,
you paint on me the final touch
With a stroke, you paint a smile on
sad faces
With a swing, you paint a gentle breeze
Instead of a gusty wind
Please draw on me with ease
N' erase from me what you don't please
I love you even if you
throw the colors in the seas
I will listen to your voice
Thats a moment I will cease*
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
I will not die for you
Woman fey of flesh and home,
I linger but to see you unfrock
The holy, set rogues to roam.
Why should I thus be consumed
In breath like coldest fire?
Shape of rising waterfalls
That state, I surely do not desire
The downy ******* the runny skin,
Spark of cheek, notes of hair in shower,
The gliding step, the gusty tone,
Fools have died for much less a dower.
The lancing pools, the hemlock mien,
The highland sheen, the dawn-bird voice,
The Safire eye, over step of pyramid
Merlin gave Arthur a safer choice.
I will not drown for you,
Flood of hair, red as the lye
In parted Jordan, that sea, not me,
Shall pine as ever, slowly dying.
Your healing humors, your subtle sovereignty,
Your blood, noble as seven-seas are blue,
Little mirror who paints the sky,
Though nearly, I will not die for you.
Jun 24, 2012
Jun 24, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
Mind, like a deciduous forest
has lost all its foliage,
all leaves torn away
by the autumnal blasts
The brain where great schemes were concocted
is now an abyss where spiders sway
It is bare – dismally barren
of all memories – sweet and sour
Like a kite afloat in the boundless sky
moving nowhere, but as the wind directs,
cut out from the past, turned from the present
with the future yet to surge from the abyss
or like serpents intertwining,
hissing in turmoil within the brain,
unable to sense the gusty blast,
or hear the whispering air,
dead to sounds that disturb,
deaf to songs that soothe,
like a phantom he moves weird,
drifting far away
to a space and time impenetrable
with nothing to make the mind agog
or depress it to let out a sigh.
Loitering on roads without hurrying feet
with no bliss coming on the way
to run or hasten to embrace
or fear to be missed sore
passing through dark labyrinthine tunnels
forever barred with no exit
churned in oblivion, oblivious of all,
he remains a spectral facsimile
of his onetime self
plummeting into a black hole
The pulse of a heart beat
is all that keeps him alive,
all else is dead…… !
with dreary nights ahead
that shall not know another morrow
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
I
__
i am so much smaller than you
and i can ever
believe...
and you are so much smaller
than you and
i know.
i sit within the winds,
those summer breezes,
some gusty gales, perhaps,
feeling
'the tug
and toss
of its fabulous force
rippling
churning
combing the thinning grey hair on my tired head,
my clothing,
so indistinct,
flapping,
furling,
floating, --filled with this seen-un-seen presence,
and i know
a am so small,
and my life so
ludicrous,
like the air
that comes
and goes
out of its own control,
but,
i am too small,
and unable
to stop this, its invisible assault.
II
__
when i am a-float upon
the great lakes, the oceans
the
rolling
rivers
i live
like a tiny slab of flotsam or
driftwood
sailing
slowly,
circularly,
(oh-so!) quietly
running,
reeling the peeling painted oars of my boat
against
the grainy flashing surface of the waters
rumbling,
rolling
away
this insatiable yearning
to go wherever it takes me to go, but
i know
i am very small,
and cannot control the eddy's creeping currents-
constant-currents
thus
submitting
my wayfaring self
to the
unfathomable.
III
__
these trees towering
above me
around me,
the sapling,
the blanketing
(in my lifetime)
blooming branches
creating
an emotional, outer, physical, inner, spiritual
dwindling
like the leaves left shivering beneath the cold winter's frost,
once casually
falling,
dropping,
drying up around my soul
slipping
into silent winter slumber,
to awaken
again...
--and then!
(to the dismay of my self-enlightened discovery)
i see
how small
i am
only to return again
from that brownish-moist
soil-bed
like a seed
beneath
the ground
never sprouting,
only fogetting,
the once and always forvever
and ever
the natural
insignificance
of being.
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 3:46 PM UTC
Leaves,
Flying flawlessly mid air.
As I would dance, in your orange shadows of lost green.
Receiving nothing, but, breezy kisses of gusty fall.
We sway and twirl painting skies
Oozing shadows, now becoming decor of anew.
Floors being swept with flesh of summers past.
All dancing and tumbling in an ocean of skies.
Drowning paths with forgotten lush and past.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
She was a delicate flower,
That had yet to be picked.
He was the vicious wind,
That torn away all her petals.
Her happiness soon became
the victim
Of his gusty blows
Now,
There’s nothing left
For her to show
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 12:22 PM UTC
This is the time lean woods shall spend
A steeped-up twilight, and the pale evening drink,
And the perilous roe, the leaper to the west brink,
Trembling and bright to the caverned cloud descend.
Now shall you see pent oak gone gusty and frantic,
Stooped with dry weeping, ruinously unloosing
The sparse disheveled leaf, or reared and tossing
A dreary scarecrow bough in funeral antic.
Then, tatter you and rend,
Oak heart, to your profession mourning; not obscure
The outcome, not crepuscular; on the deep floor
Sable and gold match lustres and contend.
And rags of shrouding will not muffle the slain.
This is the immortal extinction, the priceless wound
Not to be staunched. The live gold leaks beyond,
And matter’s sanctified, dipped in a gold stain.
3.3k
I
The winter evening settles down
With smell of steaks in passageways.
Six o’clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves about your feet
And newspapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On broken blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.
II
The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.
With the other masquerades
That time resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.
III
You tossed a blanket from the bed,
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters,
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed’s edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.
IV
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
3.1k
Wind was smooth,
And the kite, flying high.
And me, in full control of the kite,
I assume.
The kite above,
like a paint brush.
The sky beneath it,
like a canvas.
The string pulled me,
towards the kite.
I was attracted,
I give in.
But the wind got gusty,
The string snapped.
The kite flew away,
Like She did.
The kite,
No longer with me.
But still pulls me,
Like She does.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
I shall go away
To the brown hills, the quiet ones,
The vast, the mountainous, the rolling,
Sun-fired and drowsy!
My horse snuffs delicately
At the strange wind;
He settles to a swinging trot; his hoofs ***** the dust.
The road winds, straightens,
Slashes a marsh,
Shoulders out a bridge,
Then --
Again the hills.
Unchanged, innumerable,
Bowing huge, round backs;
Holding secret, immense converse:
In gusty voices,
Fruitful, fecund, toiling
Like yoked black oxen.
The clouds pass like great, slow thoughts
And vanish
In the intense blue.
My horse lopes; the saddle creaks and sways.
A thousand glittering spears of sun slant from on high.
The immensity, the spaces,
Are like the spaces
Between star and star.
The hills sleep.
If I put my hand on one,
I would feel the vast heave of its breath.
I would start away before it awakened
And shook the world from its shoulders.
A cicada's cry deepens the hot silence.
The hills open
To show a slope of poppies,
Ardent, noble, heroic,
A flare, a great flame of orange;
Giving sleepy, brittle scent
That stings the lungs.
A creeping wind slips through them like a ferret; they bow and dance,
answering Beauty's voice . . .
The horse whinnies. I dismount
And tie him to the grey worn fence.
I set myself against the javelins of grass and sun;
And climb the rounded breast,
That flows like a sea-wave.
The summit crackles with heat, there is no shelter, no hollow from
the flagellating glare.
I lie down and look at the sky, shading my eyes.
My body becomes strange, the sun takes it and changes it, it does not feel,
it is like the body of another.
The air blazes. The air is diamond.
Small noises move among the grass . . .
Blackly,
A hawk mounts, mounts in the inane
Seeking the star-road,
Seeking the end . . .
But there is no end.
Here, in this light, there is no end. . .
3.1k
Fading Sun...
I was looking at the graying sky.
Trying to chase a fading sun
I peeped above the pointed leaves of the Yucca tree
My eyes were met by little bursts of orange stars
And oblique sunbeams... emitting fading brightness
Through the bushy leaves of the Sampaguita plant.
I was waiting for the moths to appear
Near my lighted candle,
But a gusty wind blew, and made the shell chimes
Sway back and forth...left and right
Round their base and through,
Until all five chimes made pleasant music
With the cool, whirring wind.
I was waiting for the late afternoon sky
To turn to elephant gray
To highlight the yellow glow from the street lamp
So I could test some newly hung Christmas lights
And the capiz lantern outside the french windows
But the rainshowers came all at once
And i found myself wet, from the pouring rain.
I was waiting...and saw a changing sky
The rain, just tip-tapping on the roof
A much cooler air blowing...
Bringing sprays of mist on my face...
Suddenly emerging...the shape of a bat or two,
Flying, crashing, through the dripping red palm tree.
On the horizon, sun was now a dipping balloon
If there's any, i would wait for any kind of moon.
On the garden chair, i sat
And just above me, came a regular stray cat
I heard its paws lightly scratching
The wet surface of the fiberglass roofing.
I still wait...and contemplate on hopes and prayers
I wait...for a lot of dreams to come true
i wait, for this long day to be over
While the night creatures,
In their own tones and tunes
Have started to croon...
Sally
Copyright October 16, 2015
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 9:19 AM UTC
Mariana in the Moated Grange
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
With blackest moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable-wall.
The broken sheds look'd sad and strange:
Unlifted was the clinking latch;
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
Her tears fell with the dews at even;
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
She could not look on the sweet heaven,
Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
Upon the middle of the night,
Waking she heard the night-fowl crow:
The **** sung out an hour ere light:
From the dark fen the oxen's low
Came to her: without hope of change,
In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "The day is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
About a stone-cast from the wall
A sluice with blacken'd waters slept,
And o'er it many, round and small,
The cluster'd marish-mosses crept.
Hard by a poplar shook alway,
All silver-green with gnarled bark:
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding gray.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said "I am aweary, aweary
I would that I were dead!"
And ever when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds were up and away,
In the white curtain, to and fro,
She saw the gusty shadow sway.
But when the moon was very low
And wild winds bound within their cell,
The shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, "The night is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creak'd;
The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd,
Or from the crevice peer'd about.
Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices called her from without.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!"
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound
Which to the wooing wind aloof
The poplar made, did all confound
Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
When the thick-moted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower.
Then said she, "I am very dreary,
He will not come," she said;
She wept, "I am aweary, aweary,
Oh God, that I were dead!"
3k
Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over,
Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past,
Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover,
Sleeping at last.
No more a tired heart downcast or overcast,
No more pangs that wring or shifting fears that hover,
Sleeping at last in a dreamless sleep locked fast.
Fast asleep. Singing birds in their leafy cover
Cannot wake her, nor shake her the gusty blast.
Under the purple thyme and the purple clover
Sleeping at last.
2.3k
...gives a shiver.....it shames me,
my weaknesses, are on the surface
needing, rises this misty evening.
this cold, cold night, further emphasizes,
i need God...His Light and Shadow, to
reassure me, when gray, covers blue skies
my loved ones are my inspirations
they feed my need to write
yet, they have their own concerns...
i humbly accept.....i am not my own island...
there's this urge to run...to race with gusty winds,
arrive fast, at my desired destination,
.......but, i am halted...always reminded...
...i listen to two soft voices within
..one is guiding...the other, almost rebelling...
i feel the chill from this empty space next to me
i'm a mix of want........and fear....for,
i need you this moment of twilight,
...and each long night that i stay awake
floating, in this expanse of darkness...
my conflicted soul...sends out signals of fear..
do my fears make me a craven coward?
the evening breeze makes its presence known
i weep in a hush, from thoughts of sailing...alone,
................ on life's lengthy moonlit bays........
..after enunciation
...of my true voice, my conscience
i could use some company
......like, i need you now
.............to help me make it,
...................through this night of exile...
Sally
Copyright September 19, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Nov 9, 2016
Nov 9, 2016 at 12:05 AM UTC
There was the flickering flame
At the corner of the room
Used to be bright, once upon
Wick is running out of time
Till it burns away, forever
Soot of yesteryear
And the blackened walls
Hand-prints left on them
Last remains of glowing days
Flame becomes shorter
Fumes of last breath
Choking the lungs
Guiding hands
Shall keep the flames alive
From the gusty winds
For how long
Before it extinguishes
Fading away to the darkness
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 8:28 AM UTC