Paglaum

Paglaum

Kaming mga kabataan karon
Ayaw’g pasagdi’ng mawala
Kay ang mga kahilay’ang tanan
Ani’a na ni’ng kalibutan

Harmony & Earth Day

A truly deceased opossum, beckoned by Mother Earth to come home.

Of Lovelorns & Haiku

He	She
Early morn, window frosts     the cold draft of winter whisks — A door left ajar.
	White is this morning     on a bough a red birda sings — A song of good-byes.
	My very first step     reluctantly to depart Tears begin to fall.
	Footprints in the snow     lead back through the frigid tears — To an empty door.
The door swings open     bringing the bitter winds The erring footfalls.
Still remains the door     the footfalls — a wishful thought My heart awakens.
No vestiges remain     footprints, scents — lost to winter Save my opaque heart.
White is the morning     on a bough the red bird sings — A song of good-byes.

Note:
^aA cardinal.
Lovelorn, adjective for someone who is unhappy because of unrequited love.

Prompt – Jolt

I don’t know whether this qualifies as a limerick; I’m not a poet, nor a writer, for that matter. But here goes nothing. Heck, who’s judging? Umm, it’s not necessarily Usain, but ain’t it rather difficult to picture somebody else?

April 7: Thoughts
Cypress, California

09:30   Yep, Cover 3 would beat that Tight End route; good job, EA.

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09:48   I didn’t think I’d feel this cold here in this freezer. I thought I was impervious to it. Must be getting old. Alright, where is that kale? I must have missed it on the first go. Cold, cold …

I did not know whether my wife was alive, and I had no means of finding out (during all my prison life there was no outgoing or incoming mail); but at that moment it ceased to matter. There was no need for me to know; nothing could touch the strength of my love, my thoughts, and the image of my beloved.

A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth — that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart:

Beyond the Hills of Dream

Over the mountains of sleep, my Love,
Over the hills of dream,
Beyond the walls of care and fate,
Where the loves and memories teem;
We come to a world of fancy free,
Where hearts forget to weep; —
Over the mountains of dream, my Love,
Over the hills of sleep.