Dying was never difficult
Living is what keeps us anxious.
We keep ourselves in chains
Even if we are unaware of this *******.
Fighting wars-
Against societal constructs
When the real battle is within all of us.
We lie to protect
We crave attention,
But our guilty pleasure is our loneliness.
We like to hurt
Because secretly,
We like the way it feels-
When there's nothing but emptiness inside.

We're nothing but dust
We're nothing but a speck
In an expanding universe.
Our lives a tiny blip of history.
Dying is the only way we add to the universe
No one will remember how we lived.
We are humans.
The scariest thing in the world-
Is immortality.

Make the most of your tiny blip.

Sunset
Waiting
For
A piece of food
A single perching bird

A Farmer placed a cross of wood for his beloved friend ,
In a field of snow to mark the grave for where he lay ,
a sodden block of wood .
A Crow perched for a little while on that Cross he layed ,
his only friend layed to rest in a cold dark thank less grave .
His feet frozen in the snow ,  
no one for him to talk to ,
Just a field of empty snow. .
A cross of wood before him ,
one Cross sunk in this bitter field ,
and a few penny's to his name
Now to tell a tale of woe and self belief ,
this genr who now layes beneath a slab was hungry for some meat .
To feed his daughter and his wife to London Docks did go ,
and when those gate were open wide a thousand men burst forth ,
only to lose his footing and so ,
down he went, with no air for man to breath , into the ground  did go..
Gave up  his life to sacrifice for his wife and for his daughter .

The Farmer picked up his sack that he had carried with him , full of
Food , poltary bread and cheese , and left it for outside the
doors of every slum that night .
To lay down our lives so our friends may live would be the least a man could do .
To give ones life at Christmas time so this bread could satisfy your soul .

Hush Mummy and Daddy creep up the stairs   ,
Hush don't awake the kids ,
With silver bows next to their children's toes ,
Back from midnight mass ,
On this sacred holy night ,
dressed in red ,
With a hood over their head ,
awaited for dawn on this blessed morn ,
With jingle bells ,
and cuddles .
And a feast fit for a King .


The crow with sacred book now turned to a holy man of times long past ,
the book of Zechariah .
Come to me Jeruslem ,
Gods people on earth unite ,
One Holy mountain will split on Christs return ,
East and to the West .
Like a theif in the night .
No shrine ,
No catacomb,
No rotting corpse ,
To  bow low ,
But a Risen Christ. ,
On Holy mountain ,
One King over all the earth .
The crow left the Church which door had been left ajar ,

For later that night the Farmer would. Gaze on a cross  in a Church where carols sang ,
Sang from hungry souls that Christmas night was the heart of every man ,
In thankful praise their God filled days  that Christ did come to save this earth
From this sinful  soul on man

it was so
easy
to love you
the way you
were..

the way we
were..

just..
a breath
away
from heaven

when our eyes
were
closed
hell was no where
to be found

*and yet
we fell
anyway

Order is changing in disorder ,people forgot God
Vested interests have made them the commodities
They have made the money their so called lord
Hence their real status is to unfold crease by crease

The day of Resurrection is not far off but is near
So we have to take account of all our silly selections
Death will not give us time to reconsider my dear
All our body parts are witness to our ***** actions

Let us bestow our heads to seek pardon to be clean
Let ask go back with clear eyes ,with clean hearts
Let us be innocent and pure like but early age teen
Let us be away from vicious circles of but all sorts

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

i.
when will my hopes
become existent enough to pour out
                       words of sincerity  
to speak of a genuine warmth filling my chest
instead of the lines full of teenage angst
and the desperate cries of prisoners inside me
                       who are trying to escape
all I can think of are cliché sayings
that tell of gloomy times
occasionally ending with half-hearted
                       attempts at optimism
does that please them?

ii.
I give enough of myself away
that I am kept from prevailing
but keep enough behind my dialated pupils
                       and shaky hands
to never be trodden on or crushed to dust
I sometimes murmur the thoughts that
                       clamor my mind
but barely above a whisper because they will be misunderstood

iii.
reflections hit me seemingly everywhere I turn
the images on the water’s surface
the gaunt faces that stare back at me in the
                       broken glass
when I look into my sister’s eyes they
                       slap me in the face  
these are the many people I used to be

iv.
I want to be that person
that soul
who filled me to the brim
                       when I was shaking remains of
                       mulch out of my scuffed up sneakers
and running off to seek boundless amounts
                       of a word that never escapes my mouth anymore
I don’t want to be known for
spewing out pink pieces of pathetic misery
                       onto the white carpet
No one truly wants a sad girl
the reality is that they are not mysterious and full
                       of dark beauty
at least I am not

v.
I carry an expertise
of driving myself into a dark hole
making it powerful enough to either
                    drag others in or ****** them out
someone gets hurt either way  
I leave the classic images of sorrow
                    and dark-lined eyes
for my own destiny
I consist of burrowing under my covers
Laying unconscious until the sun disappears from my view

we skip church on Sundays
to fend off champagne hangovers
wrapped in clouds of soft smoke
and perform oral *** on each other
under blankets and pillows
tangerine sourbet and wet windows
another reason to not leave you, my love
doorways into nightmares i tried to forget
oh this has always been more than enough,
hasn't it?