"reliving" poems
Late at night is when I think
And try to I clear my head
I often stay awake all night
Just laying in my bed
As soon as I get comfy
Thoughts start racing in
I start to question everything
and regret my every sin
At first the thoughts are gentle
Like what will I do tomorrow
But as time crawls by; they escalate
Till I'm drowning in my sorrow
I think of all my failures
Every detail of what I did wrong
After hours of reliving pain
I convince myself I don't belong
I suddenly feel isolated
and like the silence will never end
I feel like I will never escape
There's too much I just can't mend
I feel overpowered and worthless
Like I'll never do anything right
I hide till the world fades away
And I'm awoken by the light
I realize a new day has come
It's time to put on a brave face
I put those negative thoughts away
Until I return to this place
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 5:56 AM UTC
i have slept restlessly for nights now, reliving the events that have conjured within the past 72 hours. i think to myself, how would anyone want to bring another into this world knowing the pain they will endure? yes. you will feel pain, indescribable, chest filling, body aching pain from your head to your toes. i wont try to paint a perfect picture of this world and let you down. hating me every moment for the things i never said. you will be beaten down by others, torn away from the connection you thought you had. you will sit in a coffee shop alone, biting your lip with anxiety, and he will call you in the dead of night pleading for you to keep him company once more. you will miss the way you looked at the world, with innocence and purity, reliving every moment of suffering and rewriting its pages. you will invest your heart in people, things that will only let you down. but sweet child this suffering that you feel will be soon over. it is how you overcome these situations of awkward confrontation and scandalous betrayal. because one day a bee will buzz past you and you will jump up and down like a child again, tugging on the end of your own dress, smiling. you will laugh once again because the perpetual love you feel from those who surround you with positive energy will fill the gaping hole of disappointment that the world has so willingly handed you. like i said, i will not paint a perfect picture for you, because every artist has their flaws, but they cover them oh so well. and you should never have to carry that kind of burden.
love always,
me
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 8:07 PM UTC
I remember
when you were young and wide eyed
excited at the possibility of the world
and afraid because it was all so big and you,
you were the smallest creature in a forest full of monsters
still, you had big dreams and wanted
so badly to write something
so unique and profound
something to make people understand you
understand themselves
see that we are all one
know that we all bleed the same
slippery shades of water color
even if the canvas is is different
Fear is an ugly thing and overshadows
and overwhelms, *******
the life out of life
and the colors out of the rainbow that
is supposed to shine overhead and keep
the bad the things at bay
it crawls into bed with you at night and
keeps you awake, drilling
everything that is wrong
straight through your skull and
into your soul like a
woodpecker, never ceasing
never letting you rest
there is so much that is so hard
to comprehend and make sense of
and it is so much easier to let the fear
take hold of you, wrap it's fingers
tightly around your neck
a noose growing ever tighter, strangling
while you struggle until
you have no voice left to speak
It left you choking
out fragments
and run-on sentences into a journal
that no one would ever see
that still makes me burn when
I flip through those pages reliving
the story of my life that you wrote
all those years ago
I remember
when you thought that no one could see you,
so you lived your life like a child
jumping up to see over the counter,
making make-shift ladders out of whatever
you could find so that you could grasp
everything that always seemed so far above your reach,
losing yourself so easily
in a sea of people
because they were so big
and you were
nothing
You words are a time capsule
that bring me back to a place when
when we stared at each other in the mirror
and curled our tiny fingers into a fist
wanting to smash the glass
because
we were ugly
But my words are a time machine,
my gift to you from the future
You are small still,
but the world is not as big as it used to be
and nothing ever comes easy
but your dreams are coming true,
you did not give up despite
believing so often that you would fail and
you are making a difference
I am afraid
because
everyone is afraid, but
I stand in front of the mirror
young and wide-eyed,
excited about the possibility of the world
and when I look at you now, I know
that we are learning to love each other
finally.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:03 PM UTC
Strong winds may uproot you
Unsettle your stoic resignation
You will be shaken and stirred
Lot of ponderings and doubts
In the middle of nowhere
When gravity does not give hope
Become a fearless traveler
Encounter the strong winds
No matter where you settle
Continue to spread your roots, deeper
Your soul is still with you
Nothing can stop you from reliving
Every unsettling episode
Will teach you to be more resilient
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
I keep licking my lips
trying to re-taste you
remember you.
Using my tongue like a
defibulator reviving
the moment.
Reliving the gentle soft press
of the sweetest lips
in the world.
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
PTSD is not something you get over.
It is when soldiers get tired of hearing their own shots fire
Into a purple horizon of nothingness.
It is when assault victims are scared of becoming a statistic
And their brokenness is suffocating
It is when fear compels the mind to change
And it willingly obliges.
PTSD is when the darkness of human nature becomes evident
It is when it's stronghold is suddenly
More prominent than the beauty in the world
It's brash fingers create a vacuum
That ***** the sanity from your mind
Until you wake up in the middle of the night screaming
"Don't shoot me!"
"Don't **** her!"
You see him and now he is with your little sister
Taking her into his Jeep
While you stand there, watching
Tied up because you can do nothing about it.
This has not happened
And probably never will
But you are crippled by paralyzing bouts of anxiety and guilt and fear
From which your mind cannot console you
You can no longer hide the loss
That this event, this person, this illness
Has placed strategically within you.
It is when you will do anything to get these memories to stop playing on repeat
An endless loop maybe ended by alcohol
Check
Cutting
Check.
Promiscuity
Check
Anything that will eliminate cycle of not knowing
Of reliving
If only for a short time
Even pretending you believe in God
Because it makes it seem like there is a reason for this confusion
But then you begin to question why God would do this to his child
So you digress into darkness once again
Left feeling unsure.
PTSD is when you stop repressing memories
And they come back so forcefully that they knock you to the ground
Leaving you bruised and ******
Leaving you lost.
PTSD is different from other sicknesses
Because you do not feel sick
You feel there
Like you are in his bed again
And his room smells like mushrooms
That is actually a field of grenades
Waiting to explode throughout your small body
You remember the tone of his words
Slipping from his lips as though they are snakes
Strangling me, leaving breath unable to escape
This is not sick
As you feel no symptoms
But an altered state of consciousness
You do not even realize you are disconnecting as it happens
But this is Hell
This is war
You are broken
And the worst part about it
Is that you must understand your triggers
Your dissociations
Before you can get better.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
*An upscale lounge well known,
For its ambiance and specialty cocktail,
Which includes live entertainment dancers,
On stage, in fine detail.
While a glamorous female stood in front of the bar,
With a deep sea blue martini, in her right hand,
In an ice cold oversized snifter, dipped in sugar upon the rim,
Where she leisurely stands.
With a pink orchid,
And blue twisted glow stick, placed inside her drink,
Taking rhythmical steps,
Side by side, in sync.
Dressed in a strapless dress, slightly above her knee,
Nicely fitted, in shades of purple, green and teal,
Displaying a genuine soft look,
With such great appeal.
When a young man walked in,
And gazed into her seductive dark brown eyes,
Reaching out his hand,
Asking her to dance, as he passed by.
She was absolutely stunning,
With fair complexion, short black hair, a beautiful silhouette,
And a radiant smile, reliving her early days,
An unbelievable night, quite difficult to forget.
She appeared divine,
Upon the dance floor, mainly surrounded by youth,
Dancing salsa throughout the night,
And mixed melodies, near the DJ booth.*
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
*shadows casting forward
pastel edges
of water colored nebulous scenes
once known
i fuse with deja vu
in its feather-like fringe
i beg for the meaning
of history reliving
perhaps it’s a maze
tho’ previously scripted
funhouse mirrors silently mock
our own carnival
or is it a wink?
the north star is nodding
a slight innuendo
we’re not lost at sea
perchance it’s a hint
it is all an illusion
a glitch in the matrix
the black cat walks by
i grasp for the answer
and peer at the ghostly
parchment paper dream
as it dissolves to thin air
©2018janetaylor
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 3:05 AM UTC
1. Stop trying to remember his scent, he smelled like summer and reminds you of the time he made you laugh so hard, you snorted out milk on that dead, hazy day.
2. Don't waste your day trying to decipher what colour his eyes were, it'll only remind you of the galaxies and constellations that you once saw in his eyes
3. Stop trying to retrace the shape of his mouth in the middle of the night, you'll choke on your tongue trying to taste the mint he devoured seconds before pulling you in for a kiss
4. Stop reliving the times you clasped hands together, the glass plate will fall off your trembling hands.
5. Burn this list, admit that the galaxies and constellations shining in his eyes were wilted, the one in yours are bursting with fire. Remember on the dead, hazy day his laugh sounded like nails running down a chalkboard. Remember when you kissed, the weeds growing from his mouth entangled the roses blooming in yours.
Realize that one day, another boy is going to come and plant daisies where he left behind thorns.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
#
There was a time
within me
I wanted to be
an actor
beaming
on stage
or a screen
big or small
no matter to me
after all
The exposure is nice
I guess
and all that kind of stuff
but that’s not what drew me to it
Just being an actor
was enough
I enjoy performing
and have a memory
for lines
One of those people
who can quote
a whole movie
It plays in my head
can fast forward
and rewind
But it’s easy to recite
the work of another
One who already
searched within
and discovered
what to emote
the affect
and such
To replay like a puppet
That’s not saying much
Could I nail
the scene
and get the feeling right?
When other actors work with me
maybe they might
get inspired
to the point
they become lost in the scene
We’re reliving
the story
A fantastic team
When the director yells
“Cut!”
all applaud and cheer
Tears in the eyes of some
touching memories
they hold near
The performance
The “art”
that’s what matters most
A singer belting out a song
or a comic
at a roast
The thought of it now
gets me giddy
and inspired
but yet
here I sit
In my chair
I am mired
Never took that step
Overcoming
all that fear
My doubts and insecurities
Worry how much others care
That fear
of failure
or that I wouldn’t
“measure up”
A deer frozen
in headlights
I am forever stuck
And as the time continues on
The days, and months and years roll by
Which is the greater loss?
If I failed
or never tried?
#
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 4:20 AM UTC
Loneliness is a pain,
Not the pain of a knife cutting through skin, sinews, muscles,and drawing blood.
Not the pain of a tooth in your mouth throbbing and sending shocks of horrors through highways of swollen nerves..
Not a fatal pain of a dying cell being devoured by a cancerous growth that thrives on the death and the pain of the very cells that produces its been.
Not the pain of the prisoner s body been tortured by men who see no wrong or feel no shame as they insert sharp hot instruments into natural and man made orifices in their captives helpless, hopeless bodies.
Not the pain of age as the body's functions start their natural march towards unreliability , Hips, knees knuckles, elbows and all the other joints as they begin to slowly dry up and rub against each other like stones rolling down a hillside.
Not the pain of hearts slowing, livers hardening,lungs wheezing like ripped accordians bellows .
Not the pain of childbirth.
Not the pain of accidents that show no fairness to the person in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Not the pain of self inflicted wounds that can fool you into thinking that that pain is the answer to your problems.
Not the pain of the young healthy times when the body, and mind could accept it and overcome it
Not the pain of hunger or thirst.
Loneliness is the pain of the soul .
Loneliness is the pain of dreams that are dreamt when your asleep and when you'r awake.
Loneliness is the pain of memories . Some half forgotten some that are so clear you could almost touch them.
Some you'd rather forget.
Some you would spend the rest of your life reliving over and over again.
Loneliness is the pain that at times can be part relieved momentarily through the bottom of a whiskey bottle or a point of a syringe filled with a concoction of juices from plants poisonous to both the body and the soul.
Loneliness can never be cured by earthly things. Loneliness is a pain that can only find peace through a kinderd spirit.
Pat Rooney 2013
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
"Every man gotta right to decide his own destiny."
-Bob Marley
"Facts on facts, and things on things: that's alot of fuckin' ******** Hear me! there is no truth but the one truth, an' that is the truth of Jah Rastafarian."
-Bob Marley
"I don't stand for the black man's side, I don' t stand for the white man's side. I stand for God's side."
-Bob Marley
"in the abundance of water, the fool is thirsty."
-Bob Marley
"the harder the battle the sweet of jah victory."
-Bob Marley
"open your eyes & look within, are you satisfied with the life you´reliving."
-Bob Marley
"in this great future you can't forget your past."
-Bob Marley
"If you get down and quarrel everyday, you're saying prayers to the devil, I say."
-Bob Marley
"Just can't live that negative way...make way for the positive day!"
-Bob Marley
"Life and Jah are one in the same. Jah is the gift of existence. I am in some way eternal, I will never be
duplicated. The singularity of every man and woman is Jah's gift. What we struggle to make of it is our sole gift to Jah. The process of what that struggle becomes, in time, the Truth."
-Bob Marley
"Life is one big road with lots of signs. So when you riding through the ruts, don't complicate your mind. Flee from hate, mischief and jealousy. Don't bury your thoughts, put your vision to reality . Wake Up and Live!"
-Bob Marley
"People want to listen to a message, word from Jah. This could be passed through me or anybody. I am not a leader. Messenger. The words of the songs, not the person, is what attracts people."
-Bob Marley
"Until the philosophy which hold one race superior and another inferior is finally discredited and
abandoned...WAR! So that is prophecy, and everyone know that is truth. And it came out of the mouth of Rastafarian."
-Bob Marley
"The first thing you must know about me is that I always stand what I stand for. Good? The second thing you must know about yourself listening to me is that words are tricky. So when you know what me a stand for, when i explain something to you, you must never try to look upon it in a different way from what i stand for."
-Bob Marley
"Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our mind..."
-Bob Marley
"The good times of today, are the sad thoughts of tomorrow."
-Bob Marley
"You can fool some people sometimes, but you can't fool all the people
all the time."
-Bob Marley
"Don't gain the world and lose your soul, wisdom is better than silver or gold..."
-Bob Marley
"Rise O fallen fighters, rise and take your stance again, He who fight and run away, Live to fight another day"
-Bob Marley
"The power of philosophy floats through my head, Light like a feather, Heavy as Led"
-Bob Marley
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
I cry myself to sleep at night.
Dumb girl.
Why can't you just get it right?
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
I always have this nightmare.
This nightmare has no ghosts, or zombies, or anything unreal.
This nightmare I have is about a sad boy, who hates the world and struggles with everything in life.
This nightmare is about a boy who can’t focus on studying because he has to focus on keeping the rope under the bed.
This nightmare is about a boy who can’t focus on eating because he has to fight that urge whenever crossing a bridge.
This nightmare is about a boy who can’t have friends because of his anxiety and his lack of ability to cope with life.
This nightmare is about a boy who uses alcohol and drugs as a crutch because it works better than therapy and pills.
This nightmare is about a boy who still cries over his mother, creating memories of her instead of reliving them because she was gone before he was born.
This nightmare is about a boy with no dad because he ran away from the future of this boy.
This nightmare is about a boy who tries to forget about the pain by inflicting pain on himself.
This nightmare is about a sad boy who is lost.
This nightmare is real.
That boy is me.
I’m still waiting to wake up.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:26 PM UTC
Sitting up late at night
with smoke seen through the t.v light.
I don't rest 'cause bed bugs bite
It's like I'm my own parasite.
Not symbiotic
nor chronic,
just nicotine and glowing screens.
Bloodshot eyes even though I'm clean.
A high intake of caffeine,
keeps away my lucid dreams
or nightmares.
It's called despair.
To dwell on a concept,
reliving the consequence.
The past is no investment.
The future is a slight nuance
Its here that matters.
Eat not of a tin platter
This letter is self addressed
When your up at night and your mind won't rest
Can't figure out if your cursed or blessed
It's the present that grades your test.
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 8:15 PM UTC
What Relapse feels like
Relapse- a proper noun that steals your attention and commands your obedience
Every person that was a part of your recovery had been lying
The recollection that it did not **** you but it did not make you stronger
Reliving the moment it stopped your living and when it prevented your dying
The feeling that you will not survive much longer
That is how relapse feels
The first taste of fruit after a long and barren winter
A moment of peace in a life measured in seconds
The perfectly straight lines of a newly aligned printer
A demand for piled servings and SECONDS!
That is how relapse feels
The need of a familiar place; of a familiar face
Desire for someone to hold you tight
The need to go far away; to go to outer space
Desire to leave this world for the light
That is how relapse feels
It's a ripping motion
Between wanting it to end and wanting its intensification
Between having to much and too little emotion
And the worlds between the brain speak languages with no translation
That is how relapse feels
It feels so good just to be so bad
The beauty in the human body's ability to mend and to break
It feels so bad just to be so sad
And the repulsive face of being awake
That is how relapse feels
It's a tearing
It's a tugging
It's a pulling
It's a shoving
Relapse is looking at the sky and thanking God for the ability to be alive
ten minutes before a battle in the head
asking if it's worth it to survive
ten minutes before tears stain so silently alone in bed
It's a promise broken
It's every moment spent clean wasted
It's the truth unspoken
It's the loss of happiness that had barely been tasted
That.
That is how relapse feels.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
Silence.
This is all we hear now.
Gone are the sweet words of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity.
Gone is her radiant light that illuminated our world.
We have been thrown back into the darkness that haunted us for so long.
Yet there are no screams to torment us. No hisses to harm us.
Even the Solitude is silent.
Perhaps it has taken pity upon us.
Or perhaps it has learned a new method of torment.
Yet there are echoes that boom through the darkness, flashing memories in the sparks of light that accompany them.
The absence of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity has turned the passion in our veins to poison. We feel our very soul dying, fracturing from its touch.
We beg for the light of the Perfection, but darkness is all that answers us.
There is none to come to our aid.
Our only solace is the words once written by the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity.
Yet even these words cut deeper into our wounds, twisting into our heart as haunting reminders of what we cannot have.
The mind cannot help but endlessly repeat the memories we created, its gaze unblinking while they continue to cast lacerations upon it.
We have tried in vain to pull the mind away from the memories, to save it from the anguish.
But it has become paralyzed, caught in a horrendous cycle of elation and devastation.
We are left with no other option but to numb the mind beneath a sea of liquid repression.
Yet even then, she visits us in our dreams, giving us the company we desired so desperately before, only to awaken to the twilight that perpetually surrounds us.
Silence.
This is all we hear now.
We have been forsaken, left to brood over our deeds while we lie upon the cold ground that is littered with barbs and thorns created by our own foolishness.
The Solitude looms over us, watching us shiver in pain as the blood from our wounds stains the ground.
We feel its harsh glare bore into our very soul, while the specters of the Sapphire-Eyed Serenity eternally whisper her words in our ear.
Our strength is dwindling, and our desire to carry on is fading, for all we see upon this path is agony and torment.
Our path is wrought with cracks and blades from lovers past.
The Sapphire-Eyed Serenity
The Traveler
The Fallen One
The Distant One
The Nameless
They have each riddled our path and our hearts with scars that shall never fade.
And the Solitude vows that it will continue this cycle for eternity.
That it will force us to crawl upon this wretched path, relentlessly reliving this horror if we dare continue.
Yet despite the twilight and anguish, despite our forsaken soul, there is one who has stretched his hand in aid.
The Companion.
Unaffected by our plagues and spines on our path, he kneels beside us and speaks a single word that sends the Solitude into rage.
Rise.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
I told myself I wouldn't write another **** poem.
I told myself reliving the same traumas
over
and over
would not aid in the healing process,
but these are not
the same traumas,
this is not
another **** poem,
there is just
so much ******* material
that it's starting to run together.
She went to a movie with him,
somewhere public,
somewhere safe,
and still he drug his hand
up her thigh,
she kept her mouth shut,
tried to push him away,
wouldn't want to interrupt the best scene,
whispered
"stop",
he didn't listen.
He was in his girlfriend's bedroom,
watched her sit in silence
fuming
when he said
"no"
for the fourth time,
told himself to
man up
when she said
"what, don't you love me?"
He swore he did,
he just couldn't show it like this,
she didn't listen.
She was at his apartment,
told him that morning
she just wasn't in the mood today,
she shifted inside herself
as he kissed her neck
the same way he had
hundreds of times before,
forced a laugh as she said
"I really don't want to,"
he didn't listen.
She was sitting on his couch
when he put his arm around her,
unwrapped herself from him,
he told her to
"just relax,"
became comfortable in a body
he was never invited into,
she got away,
called her brother from the next street over,
explained to him from the passenger seat
that she had said no,
he didn't listen.
I told myself I wouldn't write another **** poem
because I had convinced myself it wouldn't happen again,
had convinced myself that
my friends and family
were not a part of the statistic,
but every sobbing phone call
or hushed condolence
reminds me that
this happens every day,
that pretending **** culture does not exist
will not make it go away,
that 20% of human beings
in the United States
will be ***** in their lifetime,
that 20% of the people I love
will be ***** in their lifetime.
I keep telling myself
I will not write another **** poem,
keep reminding myself
to look at the facts.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
You pull me through doorways
with cherry red charm.
You fill me with whiskey
and hang on my arm.
We waltz through the wreckage,
the crown and her guest.
Your hem lined in ashes,
the last of what’s left.
The clerk asks for blood.
The stone has run dry.
We promise, tomorrow
and feed him with wine.
The clouds now move faster,
with voice of hard wind.
It speaks to you only
as thunder moves in.
You twist here beside me
and curl like a vine,
your teeth in my shoulder,
reliving some crime.
You hold me so tightly
and whisper your vows.
Your secrets stay hidden.
Your tears are so loud.
Jun 8, 2023
Jun 8, 2023 at 12:43 AM UTC
*Despite the moon, the mood
And stars on foreign skyline,
From having seen the Earth, this world, teeming
With life, with breath, and breath Almighty,
And spirit in things which are perceived,
Still, I feel a deep longing, a chasm,
The feeling of missing, the want
For reliving a lot of things,
Like the beaches on the South,
Sagada, Batanes, the tarsier,
The reefs, and the mangroves,
Our fellow Filipinos eating Adobo
And the so-soft fluffiness of rice,
In celebration of our heritage,
Our famed resiliency,
I am a tourist all my life,
I remind my self,
Until I found you,
For they are all yours, all finest things.
You are the islands of our country,
And all these call me
As though to take me to you,
As though you were calling out to me
For an embrace.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
To some she is a shining light
A flash of hope amongst the dark
An optimistic helping hand
To pull you from the dark
And cheer your sorrow
To some she is a black hole
Pulling the world down with sadness
Reliving the past that broke her
And stabbing others with the shards
To some she is simple words
plastered on a white canvas painting a picture.
never more
but never less
To most she is unnoticeable
A tiny footnote scribbled in the corner of a forgotten notebook
A wall flower whose thorns push away all but those with the key to her locked heart.
When you ask me what she is
The answer is impossible
Because I don't know
But I can tell you what she's not
She is not a beautiful face, to stop you in a crowd
She is not a chatting girl to talk you into a date
She is not a innocent flower
Welcoming with open arms
She is not a genius to create the next invention
She is not a musician, an author, a designer, a star, a doctor, or a hero
She is not a loving companion for you to hold, and remember your every need
She is not a great friend, always there in a flash.
She is not a friendly person, starting up the conversation
She is not a good cook, making meals that are edible
She is not an unscarred girl, unscathed by the past
She is not a beautiful figure
That draws your eyes
She is not hilariously funny
Ready for stand up comedy
She is not someone to remember though she will remember you
However she is not fazed by judges
Changing ways to suit them
She is not perfect
She is not stopped by her imperfections, only pressed farther to become something more.
And though I can not say who she is or what she will be. Here's what I can say
To me she will always be the girl staring back in the mirror.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
A man is only half of what he is; always leaning towards the dim
Lacking a flouted need which whorls in the mute within him
A man bigots an ideal and will lark it away at the hold of his routed pith
A smile is not worthwhile if the smile does not have anything to receive or to give
A man is skyless; bound to his back with his dreams fixed on a rapture
He gorges upon tasteless feasts gasping for that sup he hungers to recapture
He does not know nor recall the times that did once befall
Of the lossless suffers and how they ever meant anything at all
He will become the most that he can ever endeavour
Be the creature he needs to be and whichever
Way it may engross him and how it moulds or claims him
It will be still him but leaning not so far in the dim
He would be a whole man who would give himself wholly
Who would be more and only more to her and her solely
His full heart would be tendered for it would not be his own
If it was still partial of the heart that had since budded and grown
A man would be raised and the sky would be without border
A bliss amid clouds where the undiscerning muddle finds order
There would be a sense to the road an approach to the wander
A reason for all a kiss a need to ponder no longer
There would be such rise in his depth and a contest behind bit teeth
To fight for the purposed kiss to hold her and keep her from grief
To offer her all embrace not too tense and not too slack
For her to breathe is to breathe; now half new he would never give it back
To be back upon his back with eyes busy to the sky
His bones broken as her feet glide indifferently by
Over his stare among cloud where she impelled his descent
He’d lay fallen and broken beaten and bent
If Half a man became whole does a whole man not become naught?
If he fights for a dearest never afore dreamt dream then what is left to be fought?
Was it his minds misgivings that would lead to such a trite giving reliving to doubt?
That surfaced more than he knew; the intended whisper instead a floundering shout?
Would it have been his heart that threw him from his felicity?
Could his relish overwhelm and mutate into potent toxicity?
Could it be fact that without thought nor without tact he impelled her?
Either overthought or over loved he would have fallen the hardest and he would not rise
No he would not rise anymore
If there ever was such a man and ever such a she
He would have her for as long as that may be
Her greatest gift is after saying all this to you
Is that after knowing all that you could you would feel the same way too.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 3:21 PM UTC
(On Moonlit Nights)
While others are busy jingle bell-ing
and Christmas tree-gazing,
i have wrapped myself, for
i am going back...
remembering anew
how it is to walk
under a star-laden Christmas sky
these tree-shrouded paths
leading to the sea...
alone and unafraid,
somehow, still hoping,
to feel your hand, holding mine...
Reliving once again
magical moments with thee,
silhouettes...of you and me.
This Christmas night...i walk
these paved shrouded paths.
i am desperately awaiting your presence,
for your body to be next to mine...
the blowing wind roars, and ends
as a soft sea breeze...
though it still stirs,
i feel a warm breath near my face...
my heart leaps.....then settles down
for, there's no one there when i turn to look...
a dream, you have become.
i see just a tall, bended shadow,
reaching down
to cover my shoulders
on this cold, cold night,
to caress my head,
cloaking me, shielding me.
this tree,
this silhouette,
will once again shelter me
on this, another moonlit night,
lonely and wasted,
for I am
without thee.
(October 13, 2013---6:09 AM)
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayann
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC
If only you knew the damage caused
a few small words said and forgotten
days and hours of painful analysing
awake late at night, cold sweat haze
reliving, re-enacting, in my mind
caught in a time trap, held on repeat
left on my own, locked in this hurt
I hear my voice repeat as I cry
eternally asking the question, why?
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
I strive to be the greatest
and have an audience rise up on their seats
with a deafening applause
and a desire to take that life changing picture.
I strive to be the greatest
to ax the driving darkness
digging into the center of my heart and soul
that my people have pegged
into my back.
I strive to be the greatest
finally able to smile in front of the light
that is but absent in this hole
of which only dreams thrive in.
I strive to be the greatest
that I can lie down
one last time surrounded in white
reliving the moment I smeared the world
in red.
I strive to be the greatest
so I can see you smile that perfect smile
and see I was worth the trouble
that I actually mean something
to someone.
I strive to be the greatest
so I can be part
of the 49% minority
and scream victory from buildings
taller than no other.
I strive to be the greatest
but I'm terrified of
**rejection
life
recession
failure
hate
disappointment
loneliness
myself**
so help me, God
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC