The lovely kids comforted me and never promised to pour rains on my key's day.
The kindness with calmness hinders sometimes.
The act was plain ,that l saw it coming.
There was no way for me to set out the fire,since l was still cooking.
The seasons spoke for me that all was going to be well.
Then l couldn't take hid in total silence.
I tried,surely I tried and all was wasted efforts.
Since the breeze of the country was no more,
The bubbles with the spirit gave me boost.
They took me no way but to a mere finish line.
Would this karma say we won the race now?
Just a thing of the past left behind.
Who would have the zeal to remember those lies now?
Just call them memories then.
We was riding so fast,February fourth jumped us out the emergency exit.
Yet this is another crush landing.
I've grown neither to cry nor say why.
I'd blame not August sixteenth for not signalling a may day.
In this chair is where I'll be,
It is where I will be when I write the grandest novel.
In this chair is where I'll be,
It is where I will string together the most magnificent predicate,
I will sow my words to make the most wonderful sentences.
In this chair is where I'll be when I watch it all come together,
A Voyer to the construction of a spider web of fiction,
Spun so gracefully.
It is a lot to behold in such a chair,
a chair in which chafes the fringe of my buttocks.
A chair that wails.
It is very old, and its cracks are showing,
for after all it is little more than a dying tree,
mutilated for our comfort, though,
it has become my own discomfort,
In this chair is where I will be,
When I purchase a new Chair,
and the that is where I will be......
Drop by drop. One follows another.
Continual ripples. Meeting only at the circular bound.
Don't tell me that you detest it. How can you detest something so beautiful?
A source of your own individuality. Deepening your thoughts,
widening your perception. Showing you light in your darkest hours.
It takes away the colour. Letting it stream down the road.
Gathered in one single puddle, is a person's lonely thoughts.
And I feel for the man. He who was not listened.
I feel for the man. He who felt comfort streaming down his face.
Exposing him to reality and truth.
I only have love for it, not loathe.
On wet days, I stare at it pouring down in solace.
Why is it ignored? Why does he keep on walking?
So I reach out my hand, I welcome and embrace it.
I try to show comfort, for it is what it does to me.
you tried to drown your fears in sunshine but the red thread in the corner of your oversized sweater caught on the moon's crescent instead and the rose petals that you were keeping up your sleeves fell out and onto the garden of peonies your best friend was growing on her front lawn, its not nice to constantly be running from forest green comfort but the only other option is staying where the gold is and thats something you never learned to do, yet
maps have followed you recklessly
on the roads that you've ripped through and eventually you'll find yourself climbing taller fences to be back where the purple of the last February evening wrapped your impulsive body tight, though you'll never be found how you were last left
she tells the boy sitting at the back of her classes,
the scrawny one, wearing glasses
to lift up his chin and show everyone what he's worth.
she tells the the girl crying in the bathroom,
the dazed one, in a self-medicated tomb
to never waste a tear on anyone who doesn't deserve it.
she tells the boy looking like he'd set fire to the counsellor's office if he could,
the angry one, who feels misunderstood
to keep going with the hope of getting out of this hell.
she tells the girl throwing away her lunch,
the pretty one, hanging with the nasty bunch
to fight back with every bite she ate.
and little did they know how ironic it was,
that she told them to be strong
when she was the weakest of them all.
Wrapped in your benevolent embrace
Nothing to conquer
Nothing to face
Forever surrounded by your love
My tiny hand
Clasped around your finger.
Over the years
My tiny hand
Soon matched the size of yours
The one now traced with the effects of time
Outlined by every wrinkle.
With every fall
And every tear
Your hand was the first to comfort
A direct pathway
Connected to your heart
Pumping the blood
That gave me life.
Some years tougher than others
Misunderstandings because I was too young
Too wrapped up in myself
Too concerned about unimportant things -
That same hand
Never failing to comfort
There were moments
I never failed to push it away.
Moments moving fast
Time ticking on
Growth continuing into adulthood
I now long to reach for your hand
As it releases me into my own life
The freedom I dreamed of for years
Is now the root of my flowing tears
calloused and strong lift my veil, carry me over the threshold
Turn shadows into birds when wings falter, cup round the flame biting my cigarette
Tilt my face to share a sweet kiss, rest gently against blushing cheeks
Shelter from the cold, warm me in and out and in and...
Flip through musty book pages done up with dog ears and underlines
Brush curls from his face, sweep sweet sweat from his brow
In the dirt transfer love to the life created within it
To hand is a Miss, who finds solace in me,
Then yet, why can I not stand of condolence to thee;
She whispers in my ears, fragrant airs of symphony,
Drawing nigh, the passion of my soul to the lure of dearest’s epitome.
My heart nurtures the budding warmth of the Miss’s beckoning hymn,
As the sunlit passion of our enkindled love grows dim;
You rouse the sheer nature of my once disguised dismay,
Before sorrow seals my soul and life drifts absent as it lay.
Laced gracefully upon her I see an Angel come utterly unto heaven,
And the beauty of her mind whelms the flames of my desire,
As I dream of her silk skin upon mine, unveiled of attire;
Still my eyes are yet to see the Miss’s truest form given.
I patiently wait in the deep of my blistering parched passions,
The day she will reveal herself to consume me in everlasting compassion.