"wearier" poems
My transcendent transition
Brought by my ****** ambition
Became my personal religion
When I gained a monk's chastity
All my pleas just came back to me
My prayers remain unanswered
Like someone dying of cancer
An inept bow-legged dancer
My skills are useless
My bites are toothless
My eyes are youthless
When my face has been strained
By the energy that was drained
On this ceaseless journey
To sate my ceaseless yearning
They don't look like the pictures they show
They only choose the photos that glow
They're so afraid of being alone
Willing to lie
To lure unsuspecting prey
And trap them in a spider web personality
But webs are useless against grander creatures
And become an annoyance
When all the wildlife
Can only see silk
And get itchy in the effected areas
In our minds we build barriers
In our hearts we grow wearier
Searching for someone to hold us tight at night
Someone that looks right in the light
Someone that helps fight all our plights
Someone to give that tranquil transition
Into that peaceful loving condition
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 4:23 AM UTC
skin gets thicker
eyes get wearier
covered with fats,
a sight gets glitter
a bad breath, a good breath
i don’t care
a good man, a bad man
i know it’s fake
dancing with the time as a carnivoran
dancing with the time as a carnivoran
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 1:06 PM UTC
Ach, a delicah constitution, have I
me auld bones are getting wearier
if somebody sneezes I have a cowld
its getting worser the more I get older
I can’t get a dacent man
but I’m looking as hard as I can
I’ve got a little piece of land
so for a dowry he’d be grand
See, since I buried my first two
it’s not easy to get a beau
and these day’s I’m not such a pretty view
I can be a bit contrary
and my moods oft vary
but unlike my sister Mary
I haven’t got a tash long and hairy
I don’t need any of that *** stuff
I can tell ya that for nuttin
Its help around the farm I’m huntin
I can make a dacent cup-o-tay
and I’m handy at baling the hay
so if your up for a bit of honest toil
and your humour don’t make me blood boil
Come marry Teresa Rafter
when I’m gone you’ll live happily ever after
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 6:44 AM UTC
Some years later, they will look back to this time and ask how we did not see it,
What we cursed, ridiculed and cut away would become our only saving grace.
The effects would manifest only as humanity started getting wearier of the destruction it had wrought on itself,
Tired of nuclear winters and oxygen-less atmospheres, water-stressed economies on the brink of downfall
And in those days, stories would come from different and remote parts of the world
Of people made of miracles, walking around in daylight, unclothed in hazmat suits and around whom the world seemed more friendly
And the scientists will run to these 'saviours', desperate for hope, desperate to save their once dominant race,
And then they would study them , hair to toe, and they would find their worst fears come to pass
Years ago, Humanity was crazed by a trend to cut away seemingly useless parts of themselves,
These 'useless' parts would now offer a new lease of life to an historically arrogant species
And they will then build shrines and temples to the Appendix,
The vestigial ***** that pulled humanity from the brink of extinction.
And the people who shunned appendectomy as a sin will reign supreme,
Rulers of a kinder world.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 1:06 PM UTC
I would drag my soul to a better place on my own but I seem to be stuck in (my) cement.
I'm lost in a sea of confusion, regret and hopelessness
I can’t face that fatal drop
Life could be amazing
A profound sense of fear, that completely erases all my hope.
I need that reassuring gaze of yours to make it all melt away.
There's a gaping hole in my chest from when I ripped my own heart out
How was I to know I would bleed endlessly
Throw me some rope, grab my hand and never let me go
The road is wearier and you're all I've got
Sep 15, 2013
Sep 15, 2013 at 7:35 PM UTC
Will we ever see eachother eye to eye?
Or will everything you told me turn out as a lie?
Everywhere I turn, I see your name, it's on the wall.
Too weak to bear this heartache, my hope begins to slowly fall.
Hope for happiness has vanished, nothing to look forward to.
Wearier to discover my love was but a joke to you.
My whole body begins to shake as I imagine a life without a guide.
I still feel the spark between us, even after you cheated and lied.
I'm beginning to notice all of this is a game you've created inside your head.
I set my heart to every lie you fed me, believed every 'I love you' said.
As I wollow, becoming more hopeless with every shortened breath.
To careless to live, awaiting for the day of my welly yearned death.
My dripping wrists are being scraped with this tiny shard of rust.
So this is my alternative to our passionate lust?
If pain is all that gives me drive to live.
I'll pick up every scent of my blood and breathe it all in.
I've replaced the moaning and pleasure for sobs of agony.
If only you did care that soon, you'll be the death of me.
Exempt from a heart beating in my chest, I start to drift away.
Her whole body, numb and broken, getting sicker everyday.
No one cares for her goodbyes, as she prepares to leave.
Her only choice was to die without love, or so she did believe.
With bloodshot eyes, and her soul still shading rotten.
Her red blood goes out to the girl this cold world has forgotten.
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 10:26 PM UTC
Understanding
There is a fine line, between willing and understanding
the clueless hole left in your soul is grappling for the spark that once lit your heart
while you whistle nonchalance to the sea of faces that crash through your life like a broken wave
Because understanding is not done without willingness
and these problems you see so clearly in front of you honey, they don’t exist
not to them no, they don’t exist.
Those promises whispered in-between sheets late at night remain there, woven in the cotton that you have forgotten with the bite of yesterday’s dawn.
They implore you they do, presenting lies disguised as childish riles
and your bedroom light now is sheltered in shadow and it feels like a gallows, but they can’t see that.
No, they can’t see that.
The lids of your eyes are left masked in disguise
these problems you feel no longer seem real
but the confusion does.
And that rise in hysteria that makes you grow wearier turns your soldier façade into something so vague
and you can’t explain it because your heart is like rock and the problem now is
You don’t know what.
That confusion is real and those things that you feel they are present they are true they are here.
But there is hope
Darling there is hope.
For you aren’t alone in a world full of scorn there are people that care honey, people are there!
But you can’t see that
no, you can’t see that.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
Why do they call them evenings?
Nothing is becoming even
We pretend that everything is taken care of
but the loose ends persist
The worries keep nagging us
and time speeds up
To me, the day is lengthening
Growing darker
Growing wearier
and while I'd like to feel
every night
that all is well
and everything is even and good
it's not even okay.
someone still dies every eleven seconds.
that's not an even number.
So I don't want to give up on the day.
Don't want to lie down and let sleep fall over me.
But I know that in the morning I will regret those long evenings.
Those lengthenings, those endings
So I lie down.
and sink into the pillows
sink into darkness
into peace
into even.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
Blue lights on the memories still,
That we are, that we are, that you are to hold.
Winter froze the autumns' feel,
But the snow here isn't cold..
See, your heart is your own land,
With colored hills of sand,
Grass and rivers flowing free,
Red birds hidden in the trees.
No man is a wave alone,
This says all,
But if I must fall,
Know that you have been a blue sea,
While I was just a stone.
Blue lights on the memories still,
That we are, that we are, that you are to hold.
Winter came against my will,
And every story should grow old.
I may be a traveler,
A Gipsy tainted face,
But the road'll be wearier,
With another in your place.
No man is a house warm,
This says all,
But if I must fall,
Know that your stars in my skies,
Are windows in my home.
And I don't wanna burn your face red,
And you don't want to come to me,
But when I was a stone in grey shreds,
You were the waving blue sea.
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
A hammer and sickle to tickle them
cries of, 'it's Stalin' to ******* them, then
silence on Red Square.
Dacha's popping up everywhere
communism like evangelism
gathers the money in
holiday plans.
There are true ***** drinkers
thinkers like
Solzhenitsyn
gulags
and the rags of
Moscow.
I won't go
to the palace where tells of a ****** or
on the long road that tells us of more.
The KGB
a resident family of the community
are looking for me via Odessa.
I've gone to Sweden to lead 'em astray, can't stay in the concrete connivance no way, but
I end up in Siberia wearier than the dogs who run with the pack.
Looking back at the back of it
there's a lack of it, but I'll manage it and a carriage would help a bit to carry me home .
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
(Love letter 2)
Dear Wanderer,
Already many months have gone by
Hurting times are slowly passing by
Trying moments, I hardly get by.
What could you be thinking of at this moment?
Don't you feel pricking pain in your chest?
I sense your nearness
I can't see you, but, I feel you.....
The air seems to tell me you are close by...
Tell me, why can't the past seem clearer,
Things are blurry, like windows on a stormy weather,
I imagine you,
Staring at me with wide-eyes
And I, staring back at your azure eyes...
I know Somebody up there hears my prayers,
But you...
Why do you seem deaf to my whispers?
My soft gentle words are carried by the wind,
To your ears, why can't they be destined?
Where have you gone now, dear wanderer?
When will you ever hear my whispers?
Why did your smiles
Last just for a while?
I am getting wearier,
One day, I may no longer wonder...
Please, we don't have forever,
Come fetch me now, dear wanderer
Now...or it may be never.
Me-
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC
this night
is lost in a winter wonderland
of hypocrisies
and lies
a babe is being torn in two
by opposites
that know no better
other than what feels right
for them
false smiles
and promises of love
offerings of
"if you need me, i'm here"
that aren't honored
i've grown accustomed
to the falseness
i accept the dishonest
hugs of promises
that won't be kept
while offering the same
my back aches
my heart has grown wearier
still
and i'm left here
with a baffled mind
and the realization
that family
doesn't live up to the hype
of what family
really is.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 3:27 AM UTC
For a month I had a home, our home away from home
neither mine nor his but we had our place
our little niche
our own space.
As the month drew near darker days came more frequent
I'd prefer to stay in bed, I'd let you tuck me in
but not even *** could make me forget
that the inevitable was quickly approaching.
Now that I'm here?
with no prospect of a home in sight
a place to call my own without
throwing myself to the dogs in the process.
The woman and her fangs sink deeper and deeper
the harder I try to run.
As each day passes I grow wearier
as to whether or not I'll even make it.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
When something is lost,
As my keys were,
One searches for it
With varying degrees
Of diligence and desperation,
We trace and retrace our steps,
Looking in the same spaces
For the same thing
With the same result,
But wearier each time
Until at last the item
Is retrieved and found,
In that case by you,
Keys sun-glinting
In your hand
A wonderful shared moment,
Relief and triumph,
A happy weariness
At laying eyes upon the lost
Now found,
Yet how does it work,
This new dynamic?
Because what is lost
Is right here in my heart,
She can be hugged and yet
Is still
Utterly
Lost
May 13, 2024
May 13, 2024 at 1:49 PM UTC
When my eyes find you in a crowd,
my heart can't help but stop,
Then I see her not far behind,
my heart, it plummets, it drops.
You tell me you are better as friends,
yet her iciness says you're not,
four years you loved her, now no more
but it seems she hasn't stopped.
I am your sun, you say to me,
but it seems she is your night,
you are the middle, I am the left
and she's always the right.
I see her in all we do,
she trails us like a silhouette,
your bed, your room, your passenger seat,
is there anywhere she hasn't been yet?
I laugh with you in your tiny kitchen,
and out your window I look,
just two nights ago she was where I am,
thinking of what to cook.
I am in your bed and in your arms
yet somehow it feels so wrong,
like I am the intruder in her space,
it feels like I don't belong.
You love me, and I believe you,
but I believe my fears even more,
love never ceases, never leaves,
so how could it stop at four?
You say you're okay, the break up was fine,
there is no need to fret,
of course you're okay, you never had to grieve
because she never left.
She knows you inside-out, I understand
both of you grew up together,
I just think, since she's your past,
she must also be your future.
I'm so afraid I'm temporary,
like in those movies and songs,
about how best friends fall in love
and everyone else is wrong.
I'm so afraid I'm a mere pit stop,
a temporary lapse in judgement,
the final interruption, the last mistake
before you return to her temptation.
I know I said I'd never make you choose,
how could you lose a friend?
But as time goes on, I grow wearier,
and things get harder to mend.
She'll be here for every birthday,
for every big event,
it's hard to wrap my head around
how I'm not your biggest fan.
Circumstances decided they didn't like us,
but we made it this far anyway,
like the pieces of home I found in you,
I hope you decide to stay.
Four years, I remind you, til she chose to leave,
while you stayed in your room and cried,
four years is what I have to live up to,
I try, I'm trying, I tried.
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 9:45 PM UTC
Between asleep and awake, dear:
what I write now is it's own lovely prose
When theologians lit candles and wrote in the darkness growing
Something hidden behind the day's normal light glowing
and edging its way in the drone of the elongated shadowfield tinted magenta by the summer light
Something important isn't right
I stay up longer and longer and my eyes grow wearier and darker
I sit silently or when I lie I toss and turn like the surface of the sea
And the things around me shimmer and crackle
And I hear them coming, coming for me.
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 4:26 AM UTC
I've grown to be wearier every day
I’m tired of caring whether everyone likes me or not.
Whether the way people perceive me is bearable or not.
I’m tired of feeling that the world
and everyone around me would be better off if I just died or disappeared,
selfish I know.
I’m tired of the lack of motivation
I have because my brain thinks
I should stare at a wall
instead of doing something productive.
I’m tired of always comparing myself and
always thinking I’m not good enough.
I’m tired of overthinking every tiny
thing the people I care about do around me.
I’m tired of wondering whether or not I give more or whether I don’t give enough.
I’m tired of lying
about the headaches I get in the morning
because I cried myself to sleep,
I’m tired of lying to my friends
and saying I don’t feel well
instead of meeting them
because something else is worrying me.
I’m just tired.
And I'm done being tired.
So tomorrow I hope to get a goodnight's rest
and triumph through the day
without even the slightest unrest
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 2:15 PM UTC