Everyone dies
Story’s always the same
I just wish I could tell it
Some new, different way
To revivify life
With a vivid description
Instead of this atmosphere’s
Toxic constriction
Malnourishment kitchen
An infant mortality
Failure to listen
To self-absorbed, carbon-based
Standard emission
Way passed overfishin’
For likes on the social de-human condition
Automaton autobahn
Trickle down neocon
For-profit prison bomb
Boomin’ like radical
Islamic martyrdom
Unemployed masses
Of back of the classes
The masking of innocent
Voices in ashes
An **** of power
And greed wretches *****
Mother Earth out to fuel
Their big engines of war
An insatiable thirst for more
Curdled blood screams
As I rot to the Corps
Of America’s Dreams

...are showers that come in april, unexpected;
sparks and bursts of fireworks that overwhelm
a new year's eve...and revivify a lethargic world,
with sweet music that plays on, and on, and on...
...cup brims with adjectives that speak wonderfully
of the purest of emotions, like an invisible smile
of the heart, or, a smile too shy, but can't be hid
while imagining first times, face to face situations...
...verbs and adverbs give truth to action, and reaction,
like the soft, sweet giggles that start, when hearing
a voice, or a new accent...the pounding of the heart,
when the phone rings, and conversation flows easy
and honest, time doesn't matter anymore...voices
go soft, then loud, yet, still charming and melodic;
the whispered weary sighs sighed when waiting, or
when goodnights, or temporary goodbyes are
uttered....all are vividly felt, and heard...

...these spurts and blasts of joy,
are sources of metaphors...they capture
the essence of moments sublime...giving them
life and color, making them last in one's memory...

...it is a God-given moment, when true feelings
are manifested...recognized....and appreciated...
ink refuses to run dry, when reliving in writing,
incomparable moments of joy....


Sally

Copyright December 31, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

in the twinkle of an eye
you can revivify
me

Come, come you avian darlings
You hawks, gulls, wrens and turkey vulchers
Lo! I have a sacred place
Where mountains are made
From unburnt debris longing to be ashes

Come, come you airborne circlers
Wafting up on heat streams unseen
Your kin abide on Jealousy Lane
Thinking you are satisfied.   All your needs met
Without having to scour the ground

Those careless human benefactors, wry and grizzly
Poking fun at the sight
Of so many black shadows
Flies in swarms
Gnats attacking the pitcher’s mound in August in the swamp
Bees.  Caressing the Queen.  Delicate, Loving, Caring
How can we not anthropomorphize the cackle,

They arise out of curiosity
And stay out of satiation
When do the bats revivify the seeds of waste?
Why are there no jackals?
Who built the fence?

That glorious victory mound
Miccosukee burial ground
Green seeded with local grasses
Humbled with railroad trances
We, your dancing gymnopedies
Bow down.
Constant motion
In your service

Thank the wasteful trash purveyors,
May the dump rise high!

In the land of the dead,
So much red is shed.
The land brims with fabrication,
Darkness dwelling in despair and deception.

Inferno looks down on this land,
All green has turned into sand.
The aquamarines then start to dissolve,
The contamination has yet no resolve.

Empty vessels move around,
The land somehow keeps going round and round.
The vessels throng in institutions of make-believe;
Stylites filling the vessels with fake believe.

None shall be safe from the hands of the serpent,
Gibbons keep pulling each other's tails mordant.
Trying to cut the rhea's wings by force,
Poking around the eyes of papilio xuthus without remorse.

The sheep and tiger **** hand in hand,
The dove and eagle fly land to land.
The jaguar and sloth sleep in the sand,
All of it is now disband.

The more you feel here, the more you suffer,
At a state the heart can never recover.
Melancholy will gloom your mind,
No escape, here, you are confined.

Ow who shall save thou?
No augur is coming now.
Damascus is filled with cannons,
Deaths in Bethlehem are now canons.

But walks in this land a creature,
With all these peculiar and extraordinary feature.
Something so unbothered by these mess,
Something that could not have cared less.

Nobody knows where it came from,
None aware that it doesn't succumb.
It crawls around this empty land.
Avoiding the ushers as it stand.

Can this creature show them change?
Can it be the answer to rearrange?
Will it be their savior?
Is its reticence the proper behavior?

Is it telling them to mind their own beeswax?
Or does it not care about the land's collapse?
Is it the land's protector?
Or maybe its annihilator?

All they can do is hope and pray,
That it doesn't consider them as prey.
Or maybe it doesn't want to be adored,
Does it want the land to be restored?

Maybe it will revivify this wretched place.
Or maybe it will obliterate its trace.
Or maybe both paths are the same!
Only it knows what's its aim!

Where is the lord on your mouth?
Where is the lord on your mind?
Money is your luck second?
Luxury is your lucky second.
Lucky second of death is nobody’s mission.
Making money in a second is our mission.
Corrupt is a man, where are men of good morals?
Corrupt is a woman, where are women of good morals?

Yeses, The Senior thought we can live without money.
****, The Senior for fools, he do not know life goes via money.
The Senior for bustards he will be poor forever.
Haaah haah, ******* are all the luck second of money  
Surely they think they will revivify in elevators via money.
****, haah what a messed up sonnet called luck second forever.

Written By: The Senior Date undefined