Roses and Gold chains
Living ones life stained, and there’s no time to moan-a-lisa
But try this, listen: allow this blues of love to touch your ear
Let the past be just a memory and not a future gate locker that will shut you out from happiness
Drink in the soul soothing, smooth blend of guitars and harp harmonicas intertwine with the inner drums of your heartbeat
Feel the ocean your closed ears bring to life and let that tranquil calm state coexist with the depth of the soft minor chords brought to life by the;
Gentle hands as that of potter massaging the clay till it takes shape, and submit to the tender dominants, stroking the clay from top to the lower parts
The movement starts on a slow, and the movement increases as the two blend, and the hand is by now smooth sailing on the smooth creation
Allow the blues to be the potter of your humpy, and rough countenance that’s been disfigured
And made mushy by incessant rains that haunt this once floral mind,
Turned to a graveyard, having rusty gates, making it appear even more grisly
Invite the sound to transfigure your inner self to a cherubim that is snow white; this might seem like Childs play and what if it is?
You watched them when you were young and all you need to do now is to believe in them
Hope to be bluesed than bruised
And i know that staying in tune is not as easy as being off tune, but;
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
Twist and turns,
bruised and hurt For having faith, accused of being fake
But still I stand, enduring till the end
Martyrs try to polytheis' this Being, but Deep within lives a king,
don't get it twisted this is no fiction
And so my vision is clear,
vinni da viccii my portraits are vivid
Never mind those who try to mimic, this perfect image
Pay homage to the soul typing this
Whose focus is never shifting,
even though emotions tend to be changing When twists and turns arrive
I think God, Demi gods or polytheism
But I don't want to pass no criticism
No I don't, and I do have my reasons
Spring, summer and autumn and winter aren't jealous of each other
Everything has its time and season, I've been thinking
Everything used on earth has a maker
The additional beauty, you add using make-up
And the melody, helping you wake-up every morning
I know my maker
______________________________________
Twists and turns
Jun 5, 2015
Jun 5, 2015 at 9:58 AM UTC
Words mean a lot, though miss used a lot
And so I thought why not, type-out my thoughts
At the age of twenty, I fought a lot and I lost
Submitted to reality, thanks to life for this munity
I quarrel with this world to find my golden state, but
Even in the golden age, this imperfect being still remains
Yes I grow with age, learn from my mistakes
Expelling all the weeds, growing and suffocating this angelic
Creation
So when I wake-up,
stare at mirror, moisture my skin with perfumed lotion
With the attempt to adorn this temple...
Close to Goodness yet far from purity
at times I may be white, till my robe is painted with mud
I'm only human, and yes I fall, but get back up
This life is rough, behind the smiles and all the love
Remain deep scars, this life is tough, but I still laugh
Endure the harsh times, and all the storms
If I be iron this structure would be corroded
Filled with rust, burying, who I really am All my imperfections, lust lack of trust, sometimes lack of love, and all the scars can taint my soul
Flawless Imperfectionist
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
I'm not good in arts
Never hit the bull-eye
In a game of darts
But mine eyes can be arty
Especially when dissapointed, by the one I'm hearting
If my thoughts were painting(s), vivid they would be
Above everything...
The mirror never lies and I've tested this
And everything on it I can see my bliss
See the reflection of my tears, the point is
My mirror never lies
Beauty is in the eye(s) of the beholder, but as you grow older
You will know that there's no order in this
A diamond is a diamond to me, but just a stone to you
Yes its true
Mine eyes are arty
I know this is confusing but, the celestial environment I dwell in
Just took over these thoughts and blew me away
So now I say, try and surf my wave
I'm far away from the normal state
I'm calm, I'm rough, I'm tumbling
Call me a high tide, I'm reaching for the zenith
Cause in it, I find myself
Growing floral thoughts
This mirror is creative, or is it my eyes
Cause I see myself wading
And everybody, waving
As if I'm leaving
All along I've been creating a lake with mine eyes
These none **** brown eyes
Have created a lake of tears
Tears of joy
Man my eyes are arty
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 5:19 AM UTC
I died when I thought of a future
I died when I welcomed hope
Hope killed the faith I had
Hope that the sun will never stop shining...
But instead I keep on shuning shadows leaning against my face.
I guess things were meant to be...hard though
I died the day I thought democracy was my token to success.
Democracy is a price paid for my brother,sister, mother and fathers blood.
We speak of the Styx river and forget about the Blood River.
I was told education is the key
This mysterious key comes at a price
This mysterious key is not really a key...
Instead of buying a key I have the blue print of making a key is what I have received!
I died while trying to build my future
My future killed me when I accepted it as my future.
Morbid isn't it!
Just an ordinary Zulu boy taken for a ride and now I have to live with it.
The torture of being in this cell presses on my mental peace.
If you think this Is enough to put I on a comma.
I have worse news, because I ended up in a full-stop.
I'm starting to try and relate to I these lyrics "we found love in a hopeless place..."!
this high palace has fallen "remember those walls I built, baby they are tumbling down,they didn't even put up a fight, they didn't even make a sound..."!
We say ***** is music to my ears but forget to define the type of music you compare her to
Music can sadden one
Bring joy
Bring peace
And it can also mislead you to believing that you are not human...
I died the day I last saw the precious sun shine before my very eyes.
The night is still young we say...
Shooting stars have become rare and all I see is darkness!
Shooting star appear before me and grant me the wish I have to make: I wish that this darkness wou
d disappear,
I wish the night was older because it would mean the next sun shine is near.
Life would be restored
And this darkness Gone
My sorrows and bemoaned
Solitude destroyed
Love restored
Tears evaporated...
Happiness exonerated
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC