Looking back with new
eyes I see the painful truth
I could not before

.......a parade of thoughts,
crowd its tip......sad...sweet,
scary...unpleasant...pleasant,
hopeful...or prohibited,thoughts
come.....one after the other,
like white circled smokes from a spectre,
smoking....hiding, behind the curtain,
triggered by a song, a verse, or somethin'
else.....like a photo, a voice...a memory...

when they come to haunt...and taunt
..... i just bow my head,
and let my  pen stand *****
or lean inside my palm,
allow it to make curves, loops and  
lines, to cross out untimely thoughts
on white blank pages...
pen struggles with me--whether or not, to share
my likes, dislikes, my disgust, fears, my despair...
my endless questions are frozen...wintered
within...i wonder, will they remain unuttered?
....the answers, as before, are uncertain...
.........my discontent, oh, so apparent...
::::
.....when i hold my pen...is when my soul
breathes and relaxes...it journeys...i forget all,
....hunger pangs do not enter my mind
..my troubled self....and the peaceful me
....join forces....their combined energy
flow freely, inside my inner streams...
...i sit tall when they bring out the best in me,
...wonder if i could bring back worst moments,
......and correct the wrong in them...but,
who's to say what is right? what is wrong?

when i hold my pen, i realize its might,
its omnipotent power....its written bold words,
exclamations, lines, commas, dots and dashes,
can incite, or douse strong actions and feelings
it softens the sharp edges of anger and pain
it can puncture deeper...better than a sword,
it can heal...soothe wounds and  slashes
.................inflicted by other pens


........when i hold my pen,
i let it speak for me...time and again...


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 21, 2018

Mr. Lake...hold me.

Mr. Lake...I beg.

Mr. Lake...It's late.

Mr. Lake...Aren't you there?

Mr. Lake...Where's your voice?

Mr. Lake...I need your breath.

Mr. Lake...Don't leave.

Mr. Lake...Are you there?

Mr. Lake...My palms are *****.

Mr. Lake...This is all there is.

Mr. Lake...I can't keep going.

Mr. Lake...Where are you?

Mr. Lake...Set me free.

I have sunsets on my cheeks.
Blushing roses
and pinks.
I have flowers in my hair.
Blooming,
growing with me.
I am a wanderer
around my life.
Navigating
who I am
and who I want to be .
I wonder what
the seed of the maple knew
Before he was told
to be a tree.

I showed you the way to my soul,
Hoping you would walk right in,
And indulge in all the little hidden
Presents I have planted for you
In my long unoccupied garden of love,
That yearned to be seen.  
But you found no urgency to enter
No need and no desire to knock.
Is it because you thought
I would always be right here
At the gates, keeping it wide open
Waiting to give you everything,
As soon as you asked?

But you never did.

So losing faith, and losing heart
I finally decided to shut it down
completely.
Hoping you would finally be intrigued
By the sudden closed doors
And finally be lead by your regretful curiosity
To knock, and inquire
What was hidden deep within.
What treasures could have been yours to
Take.
And keep.


(But most likely,
You would still hide away quietly
In your cozy little cabin of safety,
At most,
Only occasionally peering distantly from within,
Never taking the risk to leave.
Never taking the risk of a prickle or a sting
From plucking and holding even the most beautiful things
From my youthful affections in its zealous Spring.)

-The crimson reds depth of my sorrow
The ocean blues intensity of my passion
The scattering violets of the singes of my heart
When I miss you way too much
The white daffodils of my breathless curiosity
The sunflowers of my inevitable faith
The honey bees of my helpless perseverance
The dandelions of my stubborn yet
All encompassing, all accepting love
As well as
The sweet earth and gentle sunshine of you
Of which my entire being and happiness is
dependent on.

All these and more,
I now water with my endlessly depleting tears
All these and more,
Could have been
And still can be
Unreservedly your most prized priceless possession.

The house was haunted
The family fled
They couldn't find the priest
So they got me instead.

I read aloud my poems
Full of sorrow and pain,
About dreary things
And nearly going insane.

"My Gawd", the ghosts cried
" This is fierce gloomy stuff,
I thought we were bad
But this, Enough! Enough! "

Well they wailed and they shrieked
And they wailed some more
Then holding their ears
They ran out the door.

Even ghosts they desert me I thought
After they'd gone
They'd never even heard of a sorrow
   so deep
Or a pain as sharp as mine.

I sat there all alone in the silent house
With not a whisper, no! not a mouse
When all of a sudden there came
   something strange
A little sound like that of slow trickling
   water.

"Have you something to say to me
   House", I asked
"Before I up and leave you forever",
The little sound, it stopped all at once
   and looked up
As if very surprised at having been
   discovered.

I rose to leave
But quickly turned back amazed
When from down & out of the
   chimney
Crept this little voice so slight & warm
   & tender.

" Forgive me Sir", it said,
"But I could contain myself no longer,
That little sound you hear, the tiny
   trickle
Is but the teardrops from my eyes
   dripping

Such a pain and sorrow as yours
I never heard before
Those anguish drenched words
They seeped through my walls right
   into my heart

They pierced me deeply,
Yea, they pretty near tore me apart,
I'll remember you Sir when you're
   gone
I don't think I could ever forget you".

I listened and was sorely moved
"Thank you House ", I said, "thank
    you, thank you kindly"
And turning again at the front door
"Goodbye House, look after those
   who'll live here, won't you".

Outside the birds, they were singing
And up in the sky, the sun
The sun, it was shining.