Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Clocks cannot tell our time of day
For what event to pray
Because we have no time, because
We have no time until
We know what time we fill,
Why time is other than time was.
Nor can our question satisfy
The answer in the statue's eye:
Only the living ask whose brow
May wear the Roman laurel now;
The dead say only how.

What happens to the living when we die?
Death is not understood by Death; nor You, nor I.
 Oct 2021 Janelle Mainly
Victoria
I wonder if I really am kind hearted.
Most people think it’s true,
But maybe I’m just afraid of being mean-
Maybe I’m afraid of being you.
 Aug 2018 Janelle Mainly
SG Rose
Strike me as you would a match,
against the surfaces of your skin.
Not once, but many times
Until we catch fire.
the smell before it rains and the taste of that first sip of tea in -20 degrees

the slow untangling of your thoughts with every beat of the drum, the way the wind blows right through you just enough to move you forward and never enough to blow you down

the sound of typing fingers when you know you're onto something good, the feeling of your own, and finally not his, skin

the seasons are changing and baby so are you / six senses are helping you develop into someone new
enjoy the little things, because those tend to leave the quickest
<3 <3 <3

She enjoys her morning espresso
while he savors his mug of cappuccino

she shapes his dimpled face
in her newly wakened mind
he imagines her big brown eyes
gazing like a buck...inquiring, yet dreamy

she hums a lover's lullaby, for him,
each morning, before leaving,
he lets his charcoal pencil play
on his ever ready sketch pads
draws her face with pixie haircut

they think of each other day and night
always......at the very same time

yet...not a word is said when their eyes
meet...not an effort done, to break the ice
they'd rather keep things within,
their coffee mugs...witnesses,
to their similar daily practices

what a shame...what a waste!

their elbows, their arms touch in haste
as they hurry....towards the quay,
the ferryboat takes long, they both wait
leaving their untold love go by
along with their unsung lullaby...

it happens daily...without fail
their feelings, bubbling as they sail
but...neither has the guts to bare

how could they let life go on this way?
content with just a secret love affair...
<3 <3 <3


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
April 5, 2018
...a work of fiction...
No paro de pensar

todo lo que pudo suceder,

todo lo que dejamos caer,

todo lo que pudimos ser.

Y en mi cabeza

mis visiones no tienen fin

Tus lazos me unen a ti.

Logro ver a través de ti,

porque no estás más aquí.
She sits rather still, stitching her loom
shackled and bound to the whispering room
While the walls shutter speeches
she slouches then reaches,
her stitching resumed.

Threads of silk pool in spools
cast to the floor
Hushing the voices
as they pour

the voices repeat their crippling phrase
dancing the space
bound to their maze
Not sure. I've been editing it for awhile and I give up.
I would like sometimes
To just up and leave
Be gone till no one
Is out looking for me
A secret hiding place
That only I can keep
Off in the distance
A fading memory

Holding onto the whisper
That's never heard from again
Unfolding the map
That leads to Neverland
Embracing the fact
No one knows who I am
And if there's anything left
I'll leave even that

Escape from the place
That I was last seen
Permanently erase
All thoughts of me
Change every trace of my name
You would ever care to think
Do all this and call
Myself history
 Jun 2018 Janelle Mainly
Eddyn
this cold morning
I woke up this morning in a panic,
still half asleep I felt your presence and reached for your hand to then realise I was still dreaming,
when my hand touched nothing but the empty cold space on my bed,
my heart tore into a million pieces, there is no warmth left in me,
nothing but emptiness and coldness from the shallow pit of this body
that will never feel a flame again
being without you is killing me

will i ever love again?
Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.
Next page