LITERARY| 1371

LITERARY| 1371

by: Ashley Russel S. Baysa

The nooks and crannies of what I see have never felt so the same, Yet the wind still roars as it marches forth— a loving breeze I cannot tame;

Only when it was quiet— it knocked on my door, And when it called— need I say more?— “The mailman doesn’t come here anymore.” With intent, I stared at what it left.

Nothing— it left nothing, But something was there The heavyweight of thought— luggage no tin man can bear;

But steel does not suffer, steel cannot feel— Steel cannot heal, and yet it is there; it is real.