Eyes see what the
Heart allows.
I love you, and hand
You slivers of silver.
You curse me for
My needles.

[[[[[[[[[[ COLD ]]]]]]]]]]]

i'm
tired
of the
c o l d:
silence
distance
shoulders
.....t o u c h
a b a n d o n..

amidst
freezing
.........cold
here comes
sun.....smiling
.....d i s t a n c e
................. s t i l l
........u n c e r t a i n      

[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]]

Sally

Copyrig­ht August 26, 2015              
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

I spent time waiting
No one seems to see me grow
You are not prepared

love loss?
more like blood loss -
got my wings then
shoved shocked
like a
dove tossed
to be shot - out of the sky
pushed and pulled between the lies
yeah there's nothing left once the trust is gone
and honestly
after i have had the
opportunity
to think -
i don't know if it ever even existed.
for example:
i have been digging for existence
building majestic castles in the clouds
un-wishing past convictions
and asking for forgiveness now.
but how? and by whom?
and why is the dungeon i'm in - my room?
and every single day it doesn't improve?
it worsens -
when it's just money and breath i have to lose -
I'll open a window if I need some new air -
I'll break through a window if I need some new gear -
I'd do just about anything to give you, what's fair -
but I'll stop right there
because life's not fair
you might get trampled by a stampede at the renaissance fair
just after you went and paid your fare, to stand right here
and wait your turn.
I say no. I say no.
ok maybe, I have no control as of lately.

The snake
N
E
V
E
R
  Bites
O
F
F
M
   O
     R
       E
T
H
En it
C
A n
Ch
Ew.

Reflecting upon the ambitions of my youth,
What happened to the man I never became?
My roots, once anchored firmly, no longer sit
In countryside soil, oh dear, what a shame!
For my heart, town-life has staked its claim.

Whenever viewing those years through the *****
Lenses of memory’s filmy glass, I can always see
The discarded ideals to which I never could
Aspire, my failure, such a huge relief for me,
Not having to face the music, of a rural melody.

I seemed fairly happy then, driving a tractor.
Making a living from having, a field to plough.
The simple pleasure, a reward I had forgotten,
Somehow ashamed, as if I had broken a vow.
Or maybe just guilty, because, I’m happier now.

Auden had said. “You spend twenty five years
Learning to be yourself.” Is this to fully mature?
The wisdom of age wiping my lenses clean.
Seeing an unsullied panorama afresh, is a cure,
The man I’ve become, at ease, at peace, secure.