Eardrums ruptured by a deafening silence
Tear ducts bursting open to the weight of scorching tears
As a river bank submits to flood waters
A blink of an eye sends streams of bitter liquid down steep cheeks
….as lovers part ways
As lovers part ways without biding farewells
As their union is abruptly torn without as much as a whisper
The stomach turns to the sickening realization of a love lost
As lovers part ways without a word
Memories flood the brain as though to drown the grey matter
A torrent of vivid images, of shared laughs and playful moments
A torrent of vivid images, of shared laughs and playful moments
As dreams fade away into the chasm of pain and sorrow
Not even gin can cure the excruciating heart.
Hating love songs ‘cause they cut through the heart with blunt blades
Their love once inspired colorful portraits painted on imagined canvas
Their union once a masterful composition played by an orchestra of angels
She was the melody in his song
He was the harmony in her tune
Together they were poetry in motion
Eardrums ruptured by a deafening silence
Tear ducts bursting open to the weight of scorching tears
As a river bank submits to flood waters
A blink of an eye sends streams of bitter liquid down steep cheeks
….as lovers part ways
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
The Woman Of My Dreams
Her voice echoes in the depth of my being
Her **** silhouette gently caressing the frame of my thoughts
She is magic, she is majestic, and she is love personified
How I long to conquer the contours of her magnificent body
Her golden heart the only jewel to quench my thirst for world possessions
Hope she’ll visit me in my dreams again tonight…
Hope she gently strokes my ever aching heart with her soft wings till I fall asleep
Will you visit me in my dreams again tonight my love?
(T.W.O.M.D)
The composition of her stature perfect to my uncontaminated gaze
The purity of her intention written in the corners of her angelic smile
Her hips swaying with splendor from side to side
She is temptation personified…
Enchanted by the glow of her skin my good judgment compromised
(T.W.O.M.D)
In unison our movement choreographed in heaven above
Electrifying our touches tantalizing causing the earth to quake
Our energy with bright shooting stars light up the dull winter sky
Moving to the harmony of ecstatic groans and moans
We are one and the world our Eden
The fever of our union brings forth an early spring as flowers blossom
We paint picturesque art with every gentle caress and deep deliberate ******
(T.W.O.M.D)
The essence of humanity born as we conceive our first born child
A love child born of a perfect love never to be tainted
A beautiful creation born of the most pure of intentions
Her name a symbol of a love divine
An everlasting reminder of a faultless love for The Woman Of My Dreams
Sayamo Dikana
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
I will not cry for the dead
Unbeknownst to me,
I wrestle with a desire to cry.
This on the eve when the heavens open up to welcome a saint who was not a saint.
At dusk, just as the dust on his grave settles.
I hold back a flood of tears willing to burst behind my eyes.
My heart shatters into a million pieces at the realization of this great loss to us...the living.
My vocal cords prepare to let out a great wail.
I hold it back in fear of ridicule.
I retreat to the solace of my room.
The harder I fight the tougher the fight becomes.
"He is finally resting...his long walk has come to an end" I console myself.
When in reality I know his death was by no means an escape...
When in reality I know his passing was by no means a means of rest...
His death...a final sacrifice
His death to once again unite a nation which bleeds the souls of
abused children.
A sacrifice to free the living from the misery of selfishness
A sacrifice to unite a nation divided by corruption
A sacrifice to awaken the living to the misery caused by greed
I battle these hot tears for I will not cry for the dead.
I will reserve these tears for celebrating victory over that which today keeps us enslaved.
I will reserve these tears for when we are finally free.
Free from being slaves to the very
liberties we enjoy today.
I will not cry for the dead.
I can no longer fight these tears...
I cry for the living
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 8:50 AM UTC
Take my hand and walk with me through this darkness. Gather your courage and sail with me through this torrent. Open your wings and fly with me to the clouds above. Tell me you love me and share with me laughter and tears. You'll be mine and I'll be yours.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
An angel flew past from where I stood today
Her wings spanned so wide she covered the sky
Casting a tender shadow above my head
Protecting me from the sun’s vindictive rays
For a moment, for that moment I found succor
I found solace from underneath an angel’s wings.
Gazing at my own flesh I discovered scars
Scars from whence their nails had perforated my hands
I found scars from whither their shackles of deception were secured…
On my hands and ankles
Daggers, stained with my blood still ***** in my back
Where with superciliousness they stabbed
An angel flew past from where I stood today….
My body a canvas of pain as blemishes of their whips titivates my skin
For every laugh shared is nothing but a lash of wicked whips
Blood clotting on my sliced wrists from when they opened their mouths
Their razor sharp tongues sliced through every nerve and every vessel
Finger nails pulled out to test my loyalty towards these masters
My locks pulled out strand by strand to make sacrifices to my living “gods”
An angel flew past from where I stood today
Her wings gently caressing my soul
Her touch a cure to my aching heart
She whispered in my ear bringing relief to my over exerted mind
Said she couldn’t take away the pain nor heal the scars
Said my pain was a book of wisdom and the scars the illustrations
Said it was my guide, a map I had to take where ever I went….least I got lost
Sayamo Dikana
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 5:06 PM UTC
Beautiful...
Painted; the word beautiful would take the form of a woman,
It would be brightly coloured to resemble the she spirit.
It would be gentler than a feather,
So gentle it wouldn’t pop a soap bubble.
I bet it would be stronger than titanium,
A gentle kind of strong typical of woman.
Every brush stroke would express her perfection,
Her delicate figure formed with each painted line.
I bet the word beautiful wears a yellow dress,
She dons her brilliance both in smile and apparel.
I bet she slays the devil in a red dress.
When she walks her hips rhythmically sway from side to side,
Her gait even and deliberate.
An angelic orchestra plays when she laughs,
A slight quiver in the corners of her mouth as her eyes light up in a smile.
Beautiful.
Her poise…an object of veneration like a rare butterfly,
Spreading affection and joviality with every flap of her fairy wings.
A festival of sensation; enchanting sight, mesmerizing hearing, thrilling touch,
Delighting smell, Captivating taste and Spellbinding intuition.
In a word BEAUTIFUL.
Sayamo Dikana
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 2:53 PM UTC