When, like a ticking chance, lust tracks one down,
Even My cheap seduction is to die for, mourn to.
Would we focus better on the after ride
when guilt and unquestioned answers are homeless
Love in her gear is slowly roaming through the house,
Her face naked next to my chase,
A pent in a piece of chess,
Crowned to the dome, Hello
She then Comes, like a razor talking,
cut the tie between stunning and grinding,
Deliver me who bless in my tribe,
Of lust am brighter than Qonga's trap
The tap of the Escorting charming tongue,
her rooted shape Of the bone inch
Heat drawn from a glimpse of cold
All naked under her fitted clothes
O! Deliver me, my Sotho masters,
head and heart, hardly Proud
The heart of a Champ baked thin,
When blood, horny-shaded, and the logic tribe
Drives a gift up like bruises to the thumb,
From maid and head, From Beard and Gloss
For, Saturday faced, with culture on my rhythm,
Sweat in my palm ,A gun on my mouth
Shooting Blanks with my speech
I am the man with a sensual eye,
I, those time's ***** or the Boat of a die
May fail to bore a ****** event eventually
not Even In the straight shave,
I shall not invite my Dominance for a Grade
Struggled through beauty's scent on my wrist,
Small brain masters to dust when a touch blows
despite of the Fore faith in the play's stunt,
I Kissed oxytocin and it began telling tales,
The narration of how tall is lust
She failed to understand, it’s a body language,
made of a series of alphabets before
the letter ‘A’.
I understand, She could not stand that
breathing silently, shaking readily,
Heart beating loudly, sight shining blurry
pleasured in ways she cannot sell or share
So she chew before she took a bite
Imagination is a not a foolish fantasy,
swimming under the face of Earth, before I could feel it
and the *** stain On my gear and face and she said
Yes, yes, you lover chauffeur, Take me to your darkest hour
Steering Ascends downhill, That costs a day ride,
New tires, With a Firm grip I took an honor.
down facing safe danger in the hangar
tied tight, Held close, A journey made of trips
I drew a handful song on a summer dust
She Painted bridges with an eraser, unsafe functions of Algebra,
Every city tar on my crib begin to scratch the duty and order
Humming with her eyes through my neck.
Singing wet tour composed by the absence of lies
She lied and laid weakened on her knees like a maid
Fitted Bars of shades on her routine,
The body language ,She heard the bold poke for attention
The dust is faster than the speed,
I watered fire in a catalytic script,
For Every twist between the easement and the creation
I stole her scent, studied her smile
and dominated the source of pride
Everything ends, But the town’s suffice for two among us,
Had her with the seventh gear of a lead,
the leaning scene of a spear and a shield
I had a silent fling with warm and pointy
******* stable as a pillow,
I Give, I summon, I have the power to taze the lioness
gaze her *** shaking her calm
uncontrollably like a cemented skin,
A bridge crossed and we hunt scenes,.
All, the bumpy curves, the whole slit
roaring turns coughing contagiously,
cliffs are loading zones fuelled with tricks,
exploring the forbidden side,
That’s when she burbs thanks.
As a new chapter, A call to re-open terms.
Negotiating for a stay, she can’t quickly beg for more.
I give her all, That’s all.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
My friend draw a spoken bleeding, stiff, relieving
piece Seed of the migrated heart of his twin,
A Gemini whispered question in my ear -
Pray, what was God, if you be religious?
Sigh, what was witch, if you be rebellious
If a savior were only here just now,
Among the city's blades and graves
Teaching the life he taught us, how
Would he be welcome to your tales?
The untold, the unseen and the unjust.
I go and tease your logic-straws,
A sip of former-friends with memory swayed,
A cup of petty ways and narrow laws,
A drink of blood and your love, deserted.
From your inevitable dark lies, I flee
I know not where, like a wondering cry
Full of blood drools, unsounded splash
I swim from your dishonest means.
As I have no means of being a fling.
If you know what I mean.
Is he Alone on that unsounded deep ?
Poor genius, may his wisdom never perish,
Not Far from the course I thought to keep,
Not Far from the friends I hoped to cherish.
It may be that I shall sink, and yet
Hear, through smart, angry and bitter laughter,
Through all defeat and all regret,
The stronger swimmers coming after.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
I live in a world where a path illustrates a conflict
trying to capture the internal realities,
wait for it
I suffer the explanation of every path
For all The Truth striving to remind mankind of what Allah has gave
wait for it
I heard The greater conflict triggering a soul
shuttering the whole meaning but I sensed what comes close is conscious
wait for it
A suraah of oath is not only a chapter of hope
I gazed upon words being said, but not understood
like When the sun soothe completely out,providing morning light
wait for it
I reflect on equidistand madness and gentleness
like When the moon is full,it draws the full light from the sun
wait for it
I reflect on approval following responsibility
as The sequence of the moon trailing the sun
wait for it
As the day gives life a full exposure
Do you see it ?
As Morning gives brilliance to a day
Can You feel it ?
As The night covers the light of the sun
Even silence succumbs to it.
I have duties to meet and deem
as the sun has roles and characters to build
wait for it
“I swear by the sky and what and who made it
who is,is the origin of imagination
what is,is the verb of attributes
the fundamental of powers and forces embedded in
The fuse of inseperables
The flaw of dependables
The remarkable creation”
I have a dilemma,how should I honour these abilities
What if they trip my balance,steal my stability and sorry my advance
Such as The Sun and the moon,The day and the night
wait for it
I have an exceptional rival between instinct and reason
Such as the conflict between the sun and the moon
between The day and the night
All those are different worlds with limits
You waited for it ?
I piloted a system creating chances and plough like
An oath clash during the intersection of Water and a bubble
opportunities blowing like a reflection of wind
When would we know the truth is within the seed
Should I tell you to wait for it ?
The conscious of issueing the existence of a threat
commanded is conscious when I imagine guilt,fear,failure
Can I pull equal weight on both threat and guilt
both fear and failure
reflect on your self and your conscious
remember how balanced are they
remarkable empty desires
Am I too close to it ?
My conscious sends a reminder about our profound reality
The human heart makes you measure touch,and feel width
The human gut makes you measure navigation,and see height
I was told There is no definition for Personality
Unless the perception is self,not being slaves to no lens
Unless growth is a fact,not being excused for a piece in a rand
Unless that makes you puke such as I we have a common solution
Ever since medicine reduced human into chemicals,hormones,
All it ever did was seducing human into status,choices .
Working with what we can see and what we cannot see
There exist every tablet for me to overcome that for every dent caused by
invisible deals and means that leans towards the inclination of
what is good in us and what is not in advance
Even the soil provides clay
Even the moist provides clarity
Even the sand proves
Everytime I feel mentally hungry,
I get fed with food from earth
Then I recall my worth,I was taught
The concern is my body’
whether body as self or self as fame
Suffocating the inner
covering myselves with clothes to console the outer
handing justice two things
the portion of the unseen,the untouched and the untold
As I told the heart,How fashionable can I dress it
Like a :
A scent of diseases
A lamp of desires
A dozen of fears
A gutter of love
A dosage of hate
A lumpsum of anger
A sample of emotions
A ring of resentment
Married to influences
Ignoring the needs of the soul
Even though The heart is the territory
hearing,listening and seeing is the allegory
Because we see and we hear the truth
A feeling more powerful than thought
Nothing I never thought I would have bought.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 4:43 AM UTC
Justice lies in the interest of the forceful
And the wrath of means that are unlawful
A brutal curve during 1800's
African prison system was brought through
Guiltless spent time in cells
Consequence of the pass laws
No ground to stand
Observing the defeat over their land
No legacy to mend
With their bare fits and wits,
They had inheritance to shed
Civilisation introduced to Afrikans
The ideology is a slow process
Resounding failures
frontal setbacks,
Bright darkness
Even today
You and I is a witness
Or you missed that ?
Now
Last of all comes the severe man,
About whom we have to wonder,
We abide as Slave citizen
He came through a form of a revered writing
Wearing a complexion of the slave master
Whence is he, or is he an enigma
or his coming is a paradox
Does he exist as a palindrome
in happiness or in misery?
In length or in depth
In fact,
There is,
however,
A list of grieving interrogations I have,
Which I should like to consider first.
Most of them are illegal,
Some of them are liberal
None of them are answered
Yet weakened in various degrees
By the strength of reason and law scenes.
I mean those which are awake when the
Reasoning powers are asleep,
Which get up and travel around without rights
Without any knowledge of self or state of belonging;
With a potential of conceivable accusations or crime,
However cruel or unnatural,
Of which,
In imagination,
They may not be guilty.
Very True, I declare;
But when a man’s pain beats drastically;
Conforming under a feast of sorrow
failure comes home to reside
Just before fear of prosecutions goes to rest,
The solution is a systematic arrest
Which remains being the nature of the rest,
Invoked characteristics lays tests,
The visions which he has on his bed
Are least irregular and defective.
Which marvels out in sleep.
Arguing like a temperamental insubordinate,
That he who Is mistaken about the crime
Is a jailor in that he is mistaken?
Or that he who stumble in poverty or liberty
Is a poverty-stricken or libertarian at the time
he is misunderstood,
In respect of the error?
Give or take the era, he is lame
True, we say that the game
Is the fact is that neither the poverty-stricken nor any other
cause of life course and the skill ever made any sense
In so far as he is what his name implies;
Soiled with dirt and false diseases
until their skill fails them,
and then they cease to be
skilled ******
smart drug traffickers,
artisans that paint with blood to be even
Not even the confused sage with no name
is present at the time when he is
what his name implies;
though he is commonly said to
misjudge,
misremember,
drift
To stray and roll until the truth slips up
out of bed and that’s never sad
While he stumble until he trips up
and I also adopted the unremarkable
mode of misunderstanding.
But to be perfectly accurate,
since you adore accuracy,
Would it be prudent to declare that the ruler,
In so far as there is a swayer, is not liable to error,
Or measuring the greatness of the dishonourable,
as far as that is the case,
Never commanded for the interest of the hopeless;
Should I rest my chase or less,
wake up read the book of those who offers little with no hope
Or else,
The area of imprisonment
would be minimized,
no chance to be analysed
and the subject is designed
to execute commands;
and therefore,
as I said at first and
now
repeat with me,
Justice lies in the interest of the forceful.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 5:35 AM UTC
Which is better, a clock that is right only once a year, or a clock that is right twice every day?
"The latter," you reply, "unquestionably." Very good, now attend.
I have two clocks: one doesn't go at all, and the other loses a minute a day: which would you prefer? "The losing one," you answer, "without a doubt."
Now observe: the one which loses a minute a day has to lose twelve hours, or seven hundred and twenty minutes before it is right again, consequently it is only right once in two years, whereas the other is evidently right as often as the time it points to comes round, which happens twice a day.
So you've contradicted yourself once.
"Ah, but," you say, "what's the use of its being right twice a day, if I ca'n't tell when the time comes?"
Why, suppose the clock points to eight o'clock, don't you see that the clock is right at eight o'clock? Consequently, when eight o'clock comes round your clock is right.
"Yes, I see that," you reply.
Very good, then you've contradicted yourself twice: now get out of the difficulty as best you can, and don't contradict yourself again if you can help it.
You might go on to ask, "How am I to know when eight o'clock does come? My clock will not tell me." Be patient: you know that when eight o'clock comes your clock is right, very good; then your rule is this: keep your eye fixed on your clock, and the very moment it is right it will be eight o'clock.
"But--," you say.
There, that'll do; the more you argue the further you get from the point, so it will be as well to stop.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 5:47 AM UTC
Childish slaves of social rules on these rooms,
we might be networking, I’m guessing
we had ourselves a name in making!
How I could shake our faith, tint our rate,
If I thought we worth the shame.
I see, and pity our deprived potential.
In search of better, brighter purpose,
A route confined through our senseless minds.
And, careless of our Town's set of rules,
We need to rule when we Seek
real friendship that ride outs
Among the friends of our own selecting,
liberals,mentalists,simpletons and inventors
None of their existence should be
a virtual depict with a status
Up to date I so wish we can hate these laws
so wisdom can never aboned us,
Although I honour their wits
salute their processes
all I hope is that reasoning
should always move us to it.
We need take our old philosophy from the rack,
under our hats
dust it off,
without any particula pond we fish
besides,
a rod is the floating reasoning
Unless the brain one is wearing
is dining on ices
bestowed with fantasies like a pieces
There is no loss
just as we are earthily men.
And who only dress to please self
so please slow down with our judgments
We own,a very strange list of belongings.
W smoke **** sneeze guilt
lose a few cells
As we bake our social laws
sneer between two puffs of smoke,
and blow ourselves with insight,
Our choice of life has nothing to halt it.
It’s dead right,It’s cross faded
Everything differs according to definition
So is our set of rules for surviving
Speed up on eliminating life below ourselves
slow down on embracing life beyond our can.
Until we can
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 6:58 AM UTC
Well then, if we agree, it is not odd
that one man's filth is another's wealth
or that the true pleasures comes from
a magnitude of abnormal achievements;
anticipation of gray shades on human error
is our life's constant coefficient.
Perception betrays with its blindspot:
Fate tracks always meet, not here, but only
in the impossible mind's sight;
intentions beats recognition as we commence
on thin sheens crawling to overtake that lens
where highlight captures pretense cleansing darkness.
So we could stand up, move on, darling, you and I,
until the glare tick out the rest in the worst
nothing changes, for all the blazing of
our drastic style, but leading hands that move
forcefully from adorable to done.
We raise our arguments like a diluted depict
heave to a better angle for screen clarity
shake logic with escape of comfort
and contradict ourselves for humor;then pixels leak
raw wind dries our stand and we put on
the heights as an oath; love is a tinted gloss
who insists her associates play in the rain.
Now you, my sophisticated fading icon,
would you have me carry the dry lands
Or swallow the future and coat consequences
to store them on a cloud, down
the server in one language:
Drawing vowels from a loop through the dark
we only left with [L.P] played at 3:33 am
should it overwhelm the almost awake town.
cycling phoenix never stops to frame
If it should, should it be real or
should it sketch drunks upon the vignette
and Rands spent in dubious doorways
Our Valentine habits, engraved decoders
dining close to burning candles with our expired heads;
I donate applauds, until the same cause attacks again
scattering image from imagination,
recovering from ghost shots of exposure.
The rise leans down to hook; the resounding leak
in the dustbin sinks and drowns; we consume
divine west and east and sigh
how do you do,
and then how do you do again
to a blind breathing routine
till our harsh melodies reaches
to call for a cut on our restored scenes;
capturing photocopied reflections,
shutter opens where black or white begins
and separate the film from focus:
the philosophy of absolute apertures
exposed in a retina of moralities
which idealist call absolute, and rationalist, myth:
an insight like the prism of mirrors:
The result that mangle direct gaze is flipped,
while knowing the secret of their glaucoma is going;
some day, to move, and drop,
trace a wound that heals collections
only to reopen as flash thickens:
So we shall walk barefoot on chatroom walls
build our bed as high as a dead silhouette;
Duplicating the pain in our own tears:
Today : we start to pay the optic with each infrared,
yet love knows not of perception nor reality above
the simple sum of collages.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 6:49 AM UTC
"THE MOST COMPLICATED PATTERNS ARE HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT"
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 4:42 AM UTC
I really talked at large before
twenty six stolen years were actually stolen,
shots in my mind,
A hero’s wound gunned down
and I captured every scene
Brilliant! If you never ask me.
But who can write of give and take if
timepiece took what was given,
Must not all themes at last be puked up in lineage
Like a template of What is and what will never hold fairness
What should occur and what not to occupy our vacant heads
While we Recite recycled absent memories
Aren't we all clones of different races
Or a moving image of looped events ?
A "Book of Good News" declared we should still hope
Till Ama-Afrika conquer what will never be;
Even if it does exist!
But who is there to argue such with a right mind,
and pretend not to see the absolute lie
given The complexion of politics is stolen but never be sold
And is our logic to outweigh
every becoming that will never be,
Are we Addicts of false orders ?
How could fantasy not imagine
while the engineering of fate still watch
Every Second with a third reference
For those new years Misfortune have never defined,
Only in True logic or on the fingertip of a hardworking
that I came to learn :
Getting ourselves out of our ways will get our means out of despair.
The Present Past and the Future is a present,
Surprise!
Time Mastered to interfere with our give and never-take
Is this A dialogue between fear and failure ?
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 5:07 AM UTC
The initial concussion was prudently timed,
but not as tremendous as the distorted appearance of
the authentic invisible line that rules the blur side of site.
Subsequently, Would the dead dot find out ?
The deception was born three centuries earlier than the date
On the Earth’s birth credential,the Calendar!
which gave a power exemption to the hands of the eager,
Had we been trapped...
In logic, like psychology mistaken for philosophy
And why did They... what was in it for Plato and
Will it take us all our lives to figure it out ?
The Psych has the source of pride,
“That which truly is can’t come into being,
Can’t change in any respect, and can’t perish.
That which becomes never truly is.
So, things that come into being, alter and eventually perish never really exist.”
On the other grip, The uninformed's portion was no worse then
Than it is now.
The distribution of labor made sense
In theories developed by the ancestor
of the school of speculation
Who grasped the rationale their origin had used
To ****** and deceive, reduce and receive.
The arrangement looped itself, the same case
In a different procedure complying the conventions of
A popular character.
The cold of a desolate native.
Imprisonment, Mentally accredited and
While there’s hardship still on the bars and,
In the window, a clear path is always vivid.
The sight was Buried earlier.
Now, The panic is absent.
But the pain still stands.
And the blade, The pistol,and the Cheap prescriptions
for the wretched are only a few decisions away.
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 7:09 AM UTC