I leave the mirror Scarred by rejection Thinking at a glance Its just an optical illusion I'm the spitting image Of who I want to be Gleefully I left them there Empty
The moon speaks in glyphs on the faces of young girls, where miracles tear at their souls, rescue is nigh and ignorance is bliss. in the dead end of the red carpet selling flowers hustling for gold.
Prostitution These are all kids caught up in the crossfire of circumstances some rarely make it out OK!
Sunshine on black nights poles apart the arrow goes sparks fly hearts fall doubt dies spoon-tight spotlight, wack attacks culminate opposites attract, combinate.
BLT's Merriam Webster's word of the day challenge. (Culminate)
Meaningless? it was only my hair that strangled the fabled tower. You demanded my soul, and what you called a mans meal was a monstrous ordeal, I die every day, since that day, the day I bled.
The black southeaster peaks Mothers rain down on dead kids Criminality and gangsterism rule In this crack infested cesspool Blood moon's rising on the Cape flats The tide must turn or the place Will burn
A sad true Story The police must patrol 500 people to1 officer In some areas while our lives and the lives Of our children is under constant threat Whilst the politicians debate over deploying The army the community is currently protesting on our streets in defying Gangsterism these protests are knife-edged
The black southeaster is a freak weather pattern that brings heavy rain and extreme winds that often causes havoc on the Cape flats blood moon is when the full moon passes through earth's darkest shadow it usually displays a reddish colour Written by Khoi San 29/08/2018
I spy with my life's eye a hidden lense out of the coroner's eye from birth to a blade love or hate on a single-stage, one made the cut the other died.
It was mid winter I paled in comparison I'd say walk away it is harrowing the thought if having stayed after all it was just me on bad days it is summer now the mirror reflected when I defected.
Like potpourri in an open jar one could smell the fragrance a colourful embrace of what once were colourless
A place where our families Were forcefully removed by the Apartheid regime A place where every race Of every culture Lived together in harmony Recently some of the ex residents got restitution some will also Receive property
Am I the fool the user and the mule lost in the soul of a dead man's shoes with the burden of being a useless excuse, my existence hangs onto a ledge am I a silhouette he'll bent on smoking the last cigarette or the triumph of pieces someone will collect am I falling into the ignorance of neglect someone catch me please I cannot rely on my own regrets .
Who does the Jew speak of when he speaks of Jahova. Who does the Christian speak of when he speaks of Jesus. Who does the Muslim speak of when he speaks of Mohammad. who? Anunnaki, Rah, Krishna, etc... Who does the child speak of when he speaks of his parent. Are we in the latter without liberty, guards and gods the Dogs of humanity.
I redrafted myself many times searching for the elusive post.
When I write I don't know why I keep challenging myself I guess writing must consider feelings not only ones own also the readers, poetry can hurt as well as it heals.