You sit alone in a tiny room,
No space to move or disapprove.
You move your hand, up, down it goes.
Alone again, yet time still flows.
Looking up, you see yourself,
What can you do when life turns grey?
A doll-like figure faces you, her clothes are rags and lips are blue.
She smiles at you, "Are you still bored?"
So you reply, "N-Not anymore."
The figure fades, and you're alone.
A day goes by, a month or more.
She comes again, her lips still blue.
"Are you still bored?" she asks at last.
"I think I came here from the past."
The figure shakes and takes your hand,
Your eyes bulge and you begin to pant.
She smiled at last. "Do not fear me."
"How can I not?" You disagree.
"The past, the present will unite,"
She said and looked into the light.
But it's not real, you tell yourself.
For if it was, the life's not grey.
It's full of colour, wonder, play.
She helps you up, her cheeks aflame.
"No longer will you be astray."
BINABASA MO ANG
P-P-P-Poetry
PoetryMy amateur attempts at writing poetry. Don't expect too much, as this is as silly as it can be. Some though, may end up having deep meaning.
