You will need me more than you think you would ever need me...
You will retire into tears, when you reflect on my words and realize it's the truth all the while..
You will curse the beings that has clothed the truth with lies and led you astray.
You will feel the spectres of truth, the ingenuity of the soul behind the scrivener and be immersed in unexpected chill....

But then it will be too late cause I will be nowhere found..

With every passing day i keep getting use to you,
On one, it's quasi-upwardly projected stone, it travels until it gets to a certain altitude then descends  on full tilt cause the force that pulls it up expired..
Another quasi-object with a slight weight lifted so high by a whirlwind,  floats a while in the air then descends on slow tilt but in all cases what goes up must surely come down..

You caresses my system into a state of ecstasy..
But with all these feelings, there is still a cloud of dark matter in our horizon..
It hurts, cause i don't comprehend the source of this darkness..

I dont want to make promises that i cant keep, forwhy? i care  it not just the feelings, it's hurt that is attached to it quasi-towing tug, cause  i care..
I've a lot of past promises that i fail to keep,
So dont get it twisted, if im not making  promises,
I dont want to hurt another just like the others.. cause i care, cause i care, coz i care,

Nothing will ever go completely right. As long as there will always be those who wants to hoard things for themselves even though, aware they will never live forever.
As long as there will always be those who are not ready to live right and reasonably...
What's the point?
Reasonably!
Hoarding!
Foolishly!
All leads to the den of obliteration.
Perplexed?
Let's give up!
What if we give down?
What's it about surrender!
What's it about never surrender?
No one is, an exception.
There is neither a thing I can hardly do, except to right the wrongs of the mind with my words.
Words inscribing the wrongs and beauty of the soul in a pinchbeck, puny age, is like a melodious masterpiece of a violin in a noisy throng, rarely a soul offers any attention.
A token of my contribution.
Smiles.. I hope that be enough. Though "bitter Smiles"  cause nothing is ever enough..
Enough!
Cheers..
Verily we are spend thrifts by nature we exhausts everything.  And we! eventually gets exhausted.
Up 4am.
Having aftermath dinner.
With the most tremendous of guests,  comforting yet tormenting, thoughts and Memories.
Dining on meals and wines of,  unfathomable class and brand.
With the most tranquiling of musics, echos of emptiness.
Guarded by The magnificent majestic retinue, lugubrious phantoms.
Encompassed by The most absorbing and cimmerian paintings, mystical darkness.
"In a stead formed yet unformed by ether, the mind".

"Mr Boon"
It's really been a while I came across that adorable senile man " Mr Boon", maybe he's just too vexed with me,  maybe he's not pleased with the last encounter, cause I was too rash on the dusty.
Oh dear good senile man "Boon" don't be too ******* m
e not to pave on my pavement again. I know, I might have just been quite juvenile the aforetime, and we never learn. But does not everyone deserve a twoth?

It's  a similitude quite like none other I have composed...

I was like a bird, upon which back there is a burden which limits it's every movement and pull it down everytime it try to take off, yet unable to relieve itself of the burden cause he feared the outcome of laying off such a burden.. It was a Burden of quintessence to him,  for it might make or unmake, destroy or bind the very home it cherished, adored and not ready to give it up for anything not even this burden, but the moment, though it required much audacity needed for a forceful abduction of ..."Donald Trump. From the White House".. he choose the option, to let down the burden.. And now with the God given broad wings and the much enthusiasm from the outcome of the relief, it will take a flight like never before, so high it will put all beholders in wonderment..

Devastated continuity....

It was a time unlike aforetime..
Eyes became heavy, lids dropping and nose running streams..

Legs became weak, hearts became broken and brains tuned to the channel of Kerfuffle like a faulty compares drifting through directions and heads became bowed..


Mouth became closed,  throats became dried and intestines got tangled..

Voices pronouncing, lamenting, grieving.. Agonies bursting forth in acclamation..

Time got suspended, sun stood still behind the clouds, moon went on a visit..

Everything seems paused for a while, yet not a  thing ever gives the slightest respite or tarry a while to console a devastated, shattered heart and soul...

It's Time...

For so long,  consciously or unconsciously, I have given you the access..
Allowed you to shape and mold me to your heart desires..
Like a clay upon the hands of the sculptor.. Oh, what a beauty you have constructed...

Like the SCULPTURE PYGMALION,
Graciously, the gift of breath have been granted unto the figure you have molded..

Allotted the wheel to you..
Like a vehicle, you have driving me, crazily, calmly,  moderately, to the vissicitude of your heart desires..
But it's now Authomatum.
Like a skilled architect, you've crafted me to your desideratum, into a perfection but not my perfection.

Like a weaver, you've weaved me into  a marvelous fine silk, radiating quite a beauty to the beholder of utmost perfection yet so imperfect..

For so long, you have succeeded in assembling me,  yet feeling so disassembled...

Verily, Like a mosaic artist, you have drafted an incredible piece of work, perfect, yet so imperfect..

Like the SCULPTURE PYGMALION,
Graciously, the gift of breath have been granted unto the figure you have crafted..

"WITH ME"
Dwell with me, in my craziness..
Walk with me,  in my walk on the dusty track.. And let's make admiration upon our dirtiness..
A track,  no amount of canniness can avail a passer from being dust stained..
Walk a tightrope with me,  through the precarious and drier than a dead dingo's donger deserts, through the most Arctic temperate regions of the universe, we would keep each other warm...

Stay with me,  even if scanty my lot is of present..
Dance with me, amidst the wildest of chaos..
Dream with me, my wildest of dreams..
Play with me, like a child, hold not a thing back..
Swim with me,  in the river of life, together we can make it through the current flow..
Let thou and I take the sorry scheme of things entire and diffuse, stir and neutralize it.. To the desire of our soul..
sail with through the roughest of seas,  in search for a world, not in existence, yet..

THE POWER OF BELIEVE..
drowning he was
Falling he was..
Losing sanity he was..
Derailed he was..
Frustrated he was..
Confused he was.
Lost he was.
Deserted he was..
Buried he was...
And the slanderers rejoiced..
Thinketh they..
Never will he rise again...
Then he felt a paradigm shift..
A shift like none other..
A shift accompanied by everything benevolent...
It is,  the slanderers whispered, a phantom bone disease..
Let they wander and dawdle for they are steeped in a quagmire of visibility lest a veil is upon all their sensory nerves, depriving them the beauty and the quintessence of the invisible...
But he is/has...
No more drowning, but drinks from the fountain of knowledge,
Spiced with milk and honey..
No more falling but floating in void..
No more losing sanity but unravelled the mystery of true sanity..
No more derailed but dandified...
No more frustrated but ferociously inspired..
No more confused but concentrated..
No more lost in darkness but guided by light..
No more deserted..
No more Buried but sprouted..
Now..
El magnifico... He is..

Life is like a pyramid stairs where everyone struggles to step up, some takes few steps up and drift down-up until finally and gradually they slide down ward,  while some makes it to the top of the pyramid and tarry for a while before stepping down through the other part of the pyramid or steps down  the same path they have paved.
But there are those never privileged to take a step...

Tears so subliminal that it quenches the scorching  radiation of the sun, that it watereth the most dreary of deserts..
Tears taken from the very ocean of life,
Ocean which is the event horizon of ships..
Ships whose propellers are naught but two elements, with the given names pleasure and fear..  
Two elements driven the ship thither and whither but to the nigh end..
End which is determined yet not determined, an interim end which transient into phases..

Admiring the sunset with its radiating beauty, quite intriguing how it sets in ur view but to another it's still a beautiful noonday, to another it's just a rising sun.. Quite fascinating how time crawls swiftly, I found myself walking through three sunsets in oblivion, quite slow in my sight hence just turned my vision for what I could say 2 passing seconds to the North, on restoring to the west I met with a sunset again..


Starring at a beauty in its highest peak of perfection, the sunrise,

Conceived
By the pleasure of the flesh and
By the the discharge of a dispersed fluid, a leech-like cloth was formed.
He was conceived in warmth void, delivered into a space betwixt paradise and hell in a night of oblivion, then baptised with all impurities of hell and paradise.
Impurities infringed from all baptism, the dominant one will determine the direction of his life...

Oh what a man among men.
What a creature among creatures.
Like a tree He remains never changing from his good ways
Even when stones where thrown at him by the very ones that enjoys It's fruit, still, it remain, even when piled from all part of him for their own purpose still he remain. Though,  the tree had no choice but this man had a choice yet stoic he was
During the day and night he stood still..
Comes rain comes sunshine he was never changing, brought fought fruits and other endowment not for his own benefit but for those around.  he was friend to all and enemy to none he was, aware of every phenomenon and occurrence around him yet never said a word of it, just allow it to pass,
Even axed down or cut down by the very once it shades from the scorching sun rays and from the rain drops and while thought they that never will he rise again, he sprung up again with the love of all, never concerned by the past records, he lived a life of absolute serenity, he never complains about anything to anyone external from his being, but the wisest of gazers will understand the complaints from the strand it form on his branches, blissful his he for even the universe appraises its good deeds, during the wind  that carries away the roof of others blow, it stood still to protect it's very own..

Stay alive..
Stay alive is what, I was designed to do,  until eventually exhaust the very life I'm meant to keep alive..
Maybe I might require some stimulants to keep me out of this slumber, anytime the system  grows weak and weary falling into a slumbering state, hoping it's not the slumber of eternal, have a long way to go on a track so short and narrow and a system so weak, undoubtedly unable to withstand the pressure of "against the current flow"
"Against the current flow"why go on against some thing that never gets weary and never takes a time out...

THE WIND
He wants to be like the wind
the breeze ever present, yet not all ways felt ever blowing, ever so soft and translucent, it voiceless  rhythms with such a fine melody that it makes even the mighty oak tree dance to its tunes, ever so underrated yet more precious than all the finest lucre known to all, it's a void, vortices of ether,ever so empty yet none can exist without its  presence..
Though never seen, it stirs up and agitates the most calmest of seas to a magnitude unclassified..

The who I have become ..

Sometimes it's quite forlorn to be extensive with words in ur head, never can one be able to utter them, I feel so frustrated, I guess I will just have to train myself to be outspoken, no matter how well I train myself to be outspoken, can never be enough.
Can't tell how got here, but he is loving it..
But avoid loving it just a little too much, else you get lost in what's never really yours.

There are words I don't think I can utter at the moment, the who I have become.. But that's fine..

One who foster too many words but hardly say a word.. But that's lovely..
One who spent hours with himself searching for knowledge, stealing a glance at the sunset, half blurry half full moon.
Lost in admiration ere interrupted by a shooting star..
One consciously or unconsciously programmed to be congruent with societal or cultural influence..
One whose formed series of programmed strands which governs it's existence without being the programmer...
One whose mistakes uncountable yet still much to make, learnt so much yet learnt nothing..
One formed from nothingness into somethingness of impulses and desires, never ending desires that leads to absolute emptiness...
Like one left in lurch in the middle of a spacious dry desert, dehydrated, so weary of taste.
Continuous increase in weariness of taste by the passing seconds.
Continuous search for an oasis to quench his hankering, yet only find mirages which only increases his taste.. Buts that's still fine..
Open books all day and night in a constant note..
All with the one message harmonize yourself with the oneness of God..
Yet so many dogmas and misconceptionists spreading mischief for their selfish gains..

Daddy's little deary.
Daddy will never cut ties with his dearie on purpose
verily he's proud of her for never given up on him,
though, she's now a fully grown, young seraphic beauty, attracting tons of challenges, stress and strains..
  Things did go ironically from what daddy planned, and the track back home is just too crooked,
having darkness similar to the pitch of a moonless night not even a star to pave  daddy's way home, even the little lamp of daddy no longer lit, but daddy will never give up on making his way back home to his little dearie..

Poem to daddy's little dearie......