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All our time is glass,
fragile hands holding onto past
live, hurt, forgive and laugh
I wish this sooner on my life, to have been taught
how to talk to girls...
how to deal with things out of my control...
how to be successful with the right morals...
how to put all my pain in all of my poems...
how to appreciate my highs amongst the lows...
how to make decisions with fact, and not a suppose
how to be tickled by the beauty of life, in between my toes...

I just wish someone taught me all of these things long before
A taste of a kiss:
oh is a memory you'd vault
your lips, onto the key of your heart
A rose—petals open under the
dew of mouth rain
As would I kiss you, I'd long to kiss
again, again, and again
A sound of grips; passionate whispers
it grips me to know I haven't kissed since long
You mist my eyes, and it's a foggy vision
to remember such a good kiss—I had my tongue
write lyrics of song

So long, so long, too long
The phone rings—reluctant
to the answer of destiny
So tis the message from God
  'you've disconnected lately'

All your friends haven fallen
in love—you've fallen out of it
Longing of a touching embrace
              'you seem so touched'

As you have tears, but cannot
cry openly, it tears your apart
Being closed in a ballads verse
          'you dance in your pain'

A thousand steps in the mile
tis a small distance to smile
If you're willing to travel afar
         'life is always a journey'

She's a **** fox, only to eyes
as a foxtrot—love's smooth,
And lovely progressive dance
     'no steps to falling in love'

I'm overjoyed to knowing nothing
as everything is still to be learnt
Mysteries bound to be of a rectify
        'may God fill your creativity'
I heard the fury of nature
as the bee that stung
my earlobe
The thunder rolling like a
stone rolling down the mountain
I was told to drink the tears of angels
in these heavens fountain
then bathed in Spirit
to be drowning

I had loved; to the increase of
the foundation under feet
with the more yet to be found
Oh the heart is so wicked
as I spend it all on every weekend

She knows me not of my vices
in the music advice of my
long dead idols
I fair any better in the lessons
of nature, death & time

As nature is pure, death is a given
and time is strange
The glee of joy
   Was a smile stolen under a cheek
A child of the sun as
   They brightly smiled at the:
Glass amber—fragile as time itself

    Precious became such a moment
And named her too
    Dear Precious, dearest first daughter
Now today born

I shall sow the land, tending the wheat
    Laying the gardens watered by my tears
    Placing at you reason to sing glory of provision
I’ll unmask the stars
   To make of a place to place your fears

Sweetly, sweetly shall my songs be as a quiet moon
   The cool of night—and whispers of good sleep
Oh shall I hold an ocean back, of the wrath of conquering
   For man would pleasuring want you as land
I pray it be the Lord who steals your heart
  Blessing your spoils to be tenfold to all others
Soon are you and I to meet

  So of this piece: saved are the words I have of you
The admiration of you my child
    Is you coming to be; soon, soon shall we meet
5d · 282
Flower followers
To serve Queen till death
a bee had stung my arm
and died

Tis nature, is it not?
Speaking in tongues in accordance of
      The audience, prior the winds of your voice
To be spoken in my ear of that accordion
      Accordingly so of the bellows—the chorus of
Love in that mellow tone of a Holy orchestra
      A symphony of the Bible; all revealing many mysteries
As I constantly read more of you

All the text setting a picture of your context
my joy is content: not like a performance
      Of this world's contest

Psalms 121:1‭-‬2 NIV
I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.

So as the top would say;
I'd lift my eyes higher than the mountains
    To you Lord—
Of where my help comes from everyday

So I pray: to be humbled by your grace—
    non dependent on man to guarantee the will
Of your way
    In Jesus name I pray, Amen.
Oh the unease
        My heart is green: to be
A vessel filled with the envy of a sea without
       A land to conquer
My words are dry; as of a tongue itchy and ****
      My excessive indulgence of an activity of lonely
Before the groin pain I had  to fasten my *****
      I am the poem—of the words unsung: that of which
The lyrics come from my God above, and strong

But I’m so weak
      To please her of a valuable love
She’s young as of having heart in her large *******
I am old—to be a man carrying his pride
     She’s warm inside; as under a blanket of a cold night
A warmest embrace of a kiss so personal to face
     She was chased by her beauty; feeling unnatural to this world
An angel now disgraced
      Or a ghost haunting tears each time she appears

It’s clear to me now
     That a love sweet as ecstasy dreamt on my pillow
Is as it seems—only a dream!
               Therefore: is anything in my life as so real?
7d · 49
Emoji eyes
Peeping through blinds, double tap what I like,
—but less active in being interactive
A lot of people are so attractive,
—but funny how I'd say that after they're shaking their *****
Its still for the masses; holding a hunger so massive
as those you tend to like, put you on a list of
their passes

DM sliding into slippery situations,
hoping to get a response from a like on my comments
Still that’s not what I’m about,
—but as I’m feeding my eyes, scrolling on feeds
Not every picture is as reel,
—but unlike a tear on my skin, every unappealing
factor I feel is so real
It's just a thrill, I hate to have at times, and appearing
a thirsty guy

So maybe I'll just leave a nice comment about
the beauty of life, even it doesn't get a reply
And the response to recent posts is staring at the background
with a set of emoji eyes
Lyrics without thought, in this mind quick
to thwart what is an innocent thought

And to reminisce every mistake and fault
ostentatiously, by means to flaunt

There's that familiar sinner in my heart
for the dear me—a red poetic of the hart

I'm so quick in my faith to quickly doubt
despite the flaming desires I have of so much
will to display; but the fears are quick to dout

As the longing to be close to a cost
that of which my purpose is enough the amount
To mount in the fixed place of this mysterious world
lest must I spin my head countless times, and be whirled

As liken to a devilish smile; cheery of guilty cares
must I be trained to despise my lies
And be washed of immortality by a birthed virtues
****** bathed with necessary lyes

I thank Christ for such a sacrifice of an enemy
hoping joyously that he dies
His risen story has imparted a new colour to my
life; a permanent impact as it comes to dyes

As two words can sound and look the same—
steadfast is the love of God to allow me to be
saved by grace. As I often gaze at the words of
how His love remains the same

Unlike the lyrics in my head,
so quick to change
Sep 28 · 51
Stardust eyes ✨👀
Kassan Jahmal Sep 28
Stardust in your eyes, fairy tale inspiration
of the princess I can see
I'm just sad; a poetic anomaly, and the social
deviate from being any standard of someone to love
But I gave you my heart—to concede the respect of your
royal family ties to love a moderately *******

We could find the keys to lock our love in wedlock
beneath the solid surface of desires nightly
imaginations of the best positions to get that perfect

You're waking up in the long creases of short socks
as it's human nature to want to increase
An increase in the funds to afford the fun
of a light-hearted pleasure under the lights of stars
And I could count them all, but they'd seem less
than my scars

Still its astronomical of all the particles of earth
that I'm always struck by your eyes stardust
Sep 26
Kassan Jahmal Sep 26
The fantasies of love; I fancy myself
a glove— holding onto old befores, and
wearing out the test of time

A girl I would proudly call mine
Bribe my way into making a memory my bride; two
seductions of the tied ties, sleeping together at the odds night
And to wake up with a reasonable excuse to be tired

But I've tried to be like a peck of flightless birds—
no reason to fly south like the rest. As I encouraged
her to rest under my wing, upon my smothered talk in
her *******

Two crushing walls on my face in between thighs,
and her ****** being a tall tower close to rise
But I despise the extra seconds it takes to build up
her high. And why like vampires ****, is because
they don't use much of their tongue

But by the batting of her eyes, she is close to come,
to a point of returning a tip of this favourable fun
Sep 25 · 35
Midnight Sun
Kassan Jahmal Sep 25
Under a midnight sun; with the sounds of a substantial anthem. To those standing out, but not all can stand them—or understand them to easily brand them. It’s like a problem not to sneeze into DMs, and seeming allergic to women in the real. I have a couple mentions appearing up on reels.

Under a midnight sun; where it’s a mix of lightness and fun. Children’s tyre swings, and wearing an attire that never changes in its satire. As we all walk a thin wire of what it takes to inspire. So domesticated in a dogma, of where the bark is the only reference to a bite. Drinking the pleasures of flesh out of spite—all the thirsty people sip sprite, and come out tonight.

Under a midnight sun; ****** by a pistol of holders using that ***** gun. Let’s all have a blast in the past, to aim at old prospects hoping that they’d last. Smoking propane for a quick gas; passing comments behind people’s backs to seem like an ***. And woes to those who think of how to smash and pass.

Under a midnight sun; at a time where I need to see in the light His love. To share it with those that seem so easy to un-love. To treat as such, but I must treat them as being more than enough. To see their story through the scars, of they value being above the stars. We’ve all come from afar!

Under a midnight sun; as a song of the dawn. Sing as loudly throughout the moments dark. Sing as proudly as what lives in you is the Son.
Sep 24 · 45
Kassan Jahmal Sep 24
It's this longing—of longing to see
you, over the longest weekend
I hoped long enough to see you in person
to give you the longest hug

But we're long to find that beautiful moment
and our love for one another
Sep 21 · 147
You matter
Kassan Jahmal Sep 21
The sand dances ashes in the ambers
of their world, as you place deeply in the
ocean only by a toe

Towing the line of all your ancestors before
the land is rich of love, but it's spirit
quite so poor

Your eyes where like an open door—
swinging in your presence coming back and forth
For who are they to say: you don't matter in this world?
Sep 21 · 79
Kassan Jahmal Sep 21
|a raised prophet but without a million, a steel heart
easy for the stealing|

|a t-shirt stain of a tattooed wrinkled affair, a preferred
only of what his Mistress wears|

|and a sin of flesh, as that of both seem not to care
a joyous celebration of knowing its an affair|
Sep 21 · 18
Morning rhyme
Kassan Jahmal Sep 21
I told them I was tired of being local, and they took me as a joker
But the punchline of that is I'm the only one with focus
You try to vouch for peers, but some people turn into vultures
I meant to say voucher, that you receipt after a purchase
As some people purchase purpose; ******* in the end coitus
Still it was a moment you had enjoyed that introitus

Some do feel small inside; their inferior interiors
Not so big as it appears. Just masking hopes with years of fears
Spill a bottle of fine wine on me, and my lesser many me's
Fine dine around a table of my Lord and my enemies
Spit fire of the scolded tongue, but dire in response of having fun
Over the moon joy with a heated anger under the sun
Not all reach a ****** of their fun—still waiting for it to come

In the third person of the third stanza line
They didn't know me as a first person describing I
I'm that guy routing for himself in the ways to walk by
But the GPS was off to the location, and I have no WiFi

In the cause of this morning rhyme, it seemed fun to write
Mixing a wordplay in every line—I've got a childish mind
That child inside, wants to live freely but how in this adult life
Where being yourself is a crime; so you're a person of omission
As they won't see you for as you are, if you don't follow they vision
I guess I'm supposed to be chasing women, and calling them *******
Lined out naked perfectly on some exotic beaches
Placed on the scales of fame, I'm must be swimming with the fishes

The only time they'd say I left my communicative ways of being local
And a yes to having their focus; get rich and buy yourself a lotus
Smoke some flowers, while deflowering flower's with a magnum opus
As that's the art of the world's composer, I try to keep my composure
Breathes in I'm just most certainly tired of being so local
Perhaps I'll die in the crowd to be considered folklore
But I remain local
Sep 20
Untitled love
Kassan Jahmal Sep 20
In the whispers of dreams
behind the cracks of time—dipping feet
in a sea of tears
A cusp of fears in the year's transition
I have this constant thought of you;
painted in vision

As like the kisses of young
wrestling tongues for an excuse to say we're not
in love. But are we not?
To no fault of our hearts; beats away from me—
darling it hurts being so apart
Frozen in my mind, as when my side is cold
I've never spoken such a feeling
before; as after I fell...I fell deeply in love with

And like you, IT was all so beautiful
Sep 19 · 68
Baptism of elements
Kassan Jahmal Sep 19
Baptized in water, to wash afresh life
They flipped a quarter to pay a wreck their stripes
Too many strikes in the lines; I've done ill twice
To prove a lesson I never seem to learn
And by the next turn on an unfamiliar road
As where the water drips off the bottom sink—filled in dirt
I'll over think a wish that employers pay my worth

Baptized in fire, of all those miscreants I'd like to burn
Setting flame to burning evil intent of worldly incense
As the idea of a heaven paradise, is the only call to repent
To accept the mess you made—no sense or point to be afraid
Tip the finger despite the good intent, but a ******* in prayer
Nowadays sinners aren't ashamed, to gain success out of his name
Heathen, Atheist, Christian, Jew, Muslim, Buddhist; all the same
Living the most lively of lives, but we'll all die in the end

Baptized in Earth, saying goodbye to befores, family and friends
It's the spoil of soil that buries my dreams with a fresh rose
She smells of intentions, but I cannot smell good with a ****** nose
Ironically all things are red, that of which we've read
To share with the young, or not really care—we all die in the end
Caught in this life's trap of the pleasure's unfair; a bear in a snare
To rob you bare, with tears and a ripped bandage that you tear
The ones you love aren't always there—in moment's phone call away
Ring, ring, beep, beep, sing, sing, sip, sip; sorry I'm drinking today
You're just throwing those hopes in the air, feeling down by gravity

Baptized in winds, swinging carelessly in hopeful imaginings
That you're the one to be the golden egg of your family
An idea I had once till it cracked, so I sit back relax and laugh
Mask my pains with a grin and jokingly demeanor to always pass
Speaking smooth joy out of a tongue of jazz, and jazz hands
Fingers splayed to play in quotation marks of having a good day
And the line phrase of always saying, "yeah I'm definitely okay"

All in these elements—restless, pretend excellence, dreadfulness
In the endlessness of subtle pettiness, of my helplessness
As of my gentleness elegance, in being my life as the evidence
I've been baptized fully by the full of all these elements
Sep 18
The fall
Kassan Jahmal Sep 18
Lucifer Morningstar,
still twas he kicked out of heaven—a falling star
As did his eyes hunger for power,
upon wanting to wear God's crown; seated on his throne
he hoped to have sat while the creation of the world
It came to the fall, tumbling the mountain of His highness
to be like or greater than God—oh the defiance!

As fire burning in his eyes, it now burns to surround,
surrounding his realm of a flames life
And in his strife; he rubs his in the sparks of rubbing
his likeness ways, by a whisper in the ear
A vehicle of fear, driving it into your skin
temptations of the flesh—a temp tempt in critical moments
"Don't worry about it, you're just doing you," listen to
how he pulls away your focus.

Hell would never freeze; despite the coldest hearts
present in it's accompanying. "Come to me," says the
call of sin into it's pleasurable company
Immeasurable, are the sins we commit in a day,
as even in an innocent prayer—whispers of previous ill doing
comes to play. Satan's favourite game!

His hand isn't red; but grey as smoke swallowing the
world, adding ashes to your worth
Solely to count a price to offer up for your soul,
And if the shoe fits, it comes with staining on the sole.

My prayer is to the Lord—that we as his children
don't meet up to the fall. Its one hell of a trip
To the bottomless pit of sharp darkness, that cuts your lip
Despite of the world wanting you to feel like filth
don't fall into its guilt—guilt trip.

Don't fall, don't fall, don't fall, don't fall, don't fall,
fall, fall, fall, fall...
You will instead rise in the assurance of the Lord.
Sep 18 · 48
Cursed to rhyme
Kassan Jahmal Sep 18
The egotistic, unrealistic quotes of thinking about bars,
With the obvious prison of your caged mind.
It’s a force enforcing me to rhyme at every line
So it makes every write a question of, what rhymes are left,
And which rhyme of the bunch seems right to align

It gets so out of hand; out of control, to seem like a lyrical man
But lyrically— I don’t follow a plan, or a rhyme scheme
As random as a Tuesday dream. We don’t get to choose what we see
No scripted story, to detail life’s most critical scenes
No make believe, of the way we live. As in the ways to stay alive,
Is to survive in life’s performance; that’s always live
I’m cursed to rhyme

Growing kids, calling each other “bra”
A mark of the memory on the back. Our favourite line in strap
Of really how we loved to rap(talk)
As keen as a king, to ***** people off royally
A bald man could say it boldly in bold—of all the lies he sold
But I doubt he’d have a heir; and that’s not so fair
But of the lies he sold; comes it’s fare
And that’s just a small example of the chaos inside
Inside my mind; a few seconds of exercise to stand the test of time
I’m cursed to rhyme

Hey there Mr Rhythm; I’ll introduce you to Miss Flow
Marrying the two, but don’t diss their force
As to reach the terms of getting them to divorce
One is a gulf of words; finding the best stroke in her golf course
For I know enough words…no never mind
There has to be a better rhyme to find, as I’m cursed to rhyme

The fourth stanza—a search for an answer
As only the few of my hand had of some. I’m quite handsome
The sensitive guy, who loves to write, and all and all
Always cursed to rhyme
Kassan Jahmal Sep 17
***** girls, with tight short skirts,
sand in the eyes—the colour of dirt; employed
by the moon, and doing the night work.
Quivering in the cold, like skeletons out of their
closet—to act as if you don't know their prices.
But it's quite obvious!

The alleyways smell of ****; the club scene of
turning a blind eye to your number of drinks.
Charismatic ill gentleman, with their casual winks;
its the end of the week. As the troublemakers parading
the street.

The performance of the local band, guitar, drums,
keyboard, bass, and of course a mic at hand.
A breathalyzer for an asthma attack, to break the pressure
in awkward conversations with the rude jokes to crack.
Lap dances in the centre room; a long key looking for the
right lock. The goal of every man to score by their crotch.
Lest he has the *****!

Perfumed necks, and high cleavage vests, to show off
some perky *******. Tightly tuned hair—linear
of a piece of linen wrapped in good and neat care.
There's barely enough chairs; so sip a little while
looking around for a seat. And don't be too shy to move
your feet. But watch your step, least not to bump into a stranger,
and disturbing the chaotic night's peace.

Taste a little bit of love; in their cup under the
lasting lust of every fallen star. Take some company
back home, stuffed in a six sitter car.
As we watched a day end—watching another rise by
the time of that great Morningstar. To describe a night
they hope never ends. So by the next week, we'll be doing
it all again.
Sep 17
Kassan Jahmal Sep 17
At sake; we are lost and distant from home
In after the smoke, the rising ash of turmoil
Who really wins on both sides of the war
Only the dead live to see victory
Victim to bloodshed—they no longer see it's misery
But leave their loved ones in misery

To watchmen; on luxurious high wall
Must they see of evils, but ignore them all
Who really wins on both sides of the war
A ruler to deem an enemy
But as of their people—forced to call neighbour enemy
Kassan Jahmal Sep 16
There's a cloud—dark, gloomy tower in
the very distance. With echoes of heavy thunder,
and the growing flashes of lightning.
A cough to shake the heavens; as in the smell of
dew—it's due a season of the washing away of old.
Overflow; I speak this overflow. As in after the Storm,
cones the smell of growth. To wait patiently
on the Lord—as he is revealed behind, and of been
working through the storm.
Kassan Jahmal Sep 12
How funny is life, when I try to help all people,
but get accused of being called too nice. Acting a little mean,
then they say I don't care about human life.
I guess I'm supposed to be a bitter sweet spice?

I'm so useless, for people to use less for their appeals,
and often priceless; at a price less of being any real.
Life is just a biscuit, but unfortunately not everyone
has the cream. But here's a dream, lurking in a nightmare,
an omen in the eyes of the ungodly—the identity of a nobody,
and the somebody only with the right amount of money.

They tell me I'll be great; I only need to be a little patient,
I must of misheard them, I guess the meant "paid less."
I've gained a lot of lessons, to lessen my chances of not gaining
a few blessings. But explain to me why the teachings are so depressing?
A serpent in the sheets, are the scales of lovers nowadays; you pay for recognition, and ironically the obliviousness are getting paid. We all know that devils name, but plead cases as if hell is going to change.

Success is such a mountain, and failure an easy path.
Dreams are like a fountain, but the taste of reality gives it a laugh. You'll always be your past, searching for a future. And the present
in itself, is trying to avoid being the biggest loser.
Trying to be hopeful, in a life being  promiscuous—it's all
just a *** full.

You try to live for the moment; it's momentarily
as a distant picture losing focus. Life is an untitled moment.
Kassan Jahmal Sep 12
As to be; a righteous figure, but to always
be burned by the world? Or the vilest breed,
in successful pits, but burning in Hell?
I guess we're all going to burn in each side of choice
in the end. You live by the sword, to die with
it—you live with the shield, to only defend.
You are the sly player, or played by the game.
They either call great of your name, or scold you in a
greatly shame. You are the writing on the writing of
the wall, or the wall to fall of rite.
You are the ruler of the dark, or the blind display
ornament sitting in a light.
You are the anthology of misery after success, or an
unabridgement of joy before loss. The mistreated employee,
or heartless boss. —Life is unfair—good intentions are rare.
And as to be; a righteous figure, but to always be burned
by the world? Or the vilest breed, in successful pits, but
burning in Hell? We all burn!
Sep 11
9 love quotes
Kassan Jahmal Sep 11
When I say I’m in love;
it feels easy to say, but much harder to do, much harder to
prove—to keep it entertained, in maintaining my youth.
And to walk all over somebody’s heart; you fit the world’s shoes.
So forgive me to say;
it’s not always as easy for me to say that I love you.

These are quotes about love.

Love is a drug—I guess as the addicts who waste their funds.
Funny how the nose will run, chasing a cold love. To cuff your
heart in the glove of love. Sometimes we’re not left breathless after
making out—it’s in the terms of us breaking up.

These are quotes about love.

Love is dumb; as the phrase, “two fools in love”.
But what of those intellect—to invest time into their love.
Never mind, I won’t speak up. I don’t have the heart to speak up.
I’m really not in love.

These are quotes about love.

Love is lust; for words in factor of those who want love
after trying their luck. You look to a love of what’s to come—
the question of, “will their make me ***”.
To few of those who want to make love, but instead just want
to fake love.  Enjoying the moment of a rush.

These are quotes about love.

Love is sorrow; phrases of, “I’ll make it up to you by tomorrow”.
But does it follow. To swallow his pride—I doubt it takes like chowder. You fix your face with powder, but you address
the situation with a new dress. As if you being sweet could
turn a person’s sour.

These are quotes about love.

Love is King; as it rules your heart—knowing every King needs
a Queen. As every hand has a mouth to feed. So do you make
food for thought, or the sweet nothings of make believe?

These are quotes about love.

Love is gem; precious if true, if you don’t make it pretend.
You’d love one, but unfortunately would of kissed ten.
You could marry a friend, or a stranger instead. In the end,
do you keep your love, or quickly spend?

These are quotes about love.

Love is eye; we all see what we like.
Some value curves, others the shape of beauty inside.
Some fall for the heart, others are attracted by the mind.
A few in the sights of vile—as toxic relationships in denial.

These are quotes about love.

Love is wrath; the wrath of a heartbroken woman,
burning everything in her path. You had your chance.
As you’ve loved first, you will love last.

These are the nine quotes about love.
Called by the stars,
seven heavens knowing my name
Amongst the trumpets, and the angels praise
under a name of Grace. I am saved—unafraid,
paved lead by the golden streets of paradise
My body is no longer alive; just a husk bound
by the rules of earth. My spirit arise!

Heaven is warm, the skies bright
I lost my butterfly wings, caught plenty in
the net of time. These are the eagle wings I have now,
to rise to the presence of my Lord; lost in stars!
My family is pretty tragic, and I don't fare well in any still
Just chasing a piece of magic for that taste of thrill
The amount of times I've done wrong, plays lyrics in
my head like a boring song

We grew impressed by curves saved in secret
vaults of our phone—it's a wonder how I can talk to girls
But it doesn't mean I was good at it before
A war inside of my eyes, I've been through a couple tours
With no resort to recreation, I'll resort to being bored
Life can feel a bourd, jesting kisses getting me hard like a board

Packing the load of weighing burdens
in the haul of dreams searching for a purpose
Penniless thoughts we grew up snatching from life's purses
And the only fear a teen had, was dying a ******

You could blame us being thirsty
always wanting to drown ourselves in success
Dancing swiftness in the crowd, but secretly depressed
I tell you my life before was such a mess
But you could never tease me enough to have that be the only
thing I confess

Thankfully the brokenness of my heart could be conditioned
to bring forth a new piece of a work of art
After every scar, the C of every cut becomes the T of time
for all my scars to become stars

My life is now the scars into stars!
Cover upon the covering,
under the canopy of the Lord, let my lips
speak words honouring.
Faithful and true, and his mass—I am secure.

I've tasted a love so pure—honey dripping,
and anointed in oil. My centre is Jesus, in every
facing turmoil.

There isn't a battle I'll face alone.
No weapon of the enemy shall come to pass,
even the daggers formed to persecute me of my past.

I trust the all of my Lord; in every word,
the motion of destiny written by his hand.
Despite the broken promises of man, not everything
I see is said to last. But the eternal of my God isn't set in a
time of fragile glass.

And even at my brokenness, he will work in me;
as He has strengthen me over thoughts of worthlessness.

I thank the working of the Lord!
Sep 7 · 34
Too religious
A voice levy—to impose a fee on speaking freely.
My breath is so heavy, as my bones take on another
burden. Searching in the confines of a world not letting
me be.

A Christian that has been castrated; as you'd assume
I never had the testies to speak my father's truths.
The world has test me plenty times as a youth, before
my ***** even dropped. This part may penetrate some
sensitive hearts, so let me stop.

Perhaps you'd call me being too religious.
My religion isn't based on a bound by monastic vows.
Tis of relationship I have with my God. Filled with His
holy spirit, after being saved by His son's loving grace.
But alas you'd still call me being too religious either way.

But that's okay—I'll turn the other cheek.
Do it as many times as like in rinse and repeat. I can follow
those lessons of the Bible, but please don't hit me with,
"well aren't you a Christian," when I'm at my lowest.
I'm a Christian, but human too. I'm also going through it too.
Do I still seem being too religious to you?

Perhaps I'm being too religious to speak any real truth.
You'd call me selfish, if I said I don't speak truth for
me or you. I speak truth for my creator, but saying that
would create tension. When I speak of repentance to a sinner,
a part of me expects aggression. But I see that you're empty,
and hope to lead you into being filled by the Lord. But I'd seem
to full of myself, and a fool to try and save a sinner. At fault for
being a Christian, as you'd love to say, being too religious.

I guess I'll always be too religious.
Sep 7 · 53
As some things/people are so beautiful
to behold. Perhaps at a necessary distance,
for their thorns makes it hard to hold.
A reason to love, a reason to touch,
to add a little spice.
Freedom isn't a crime, but just a dream
inside of my eye. As the temperature rise,
heating our passions that come with no surprise.

The taste of your lips, the glare of your dirt
eyes. The warmth of your breath, in the cusp
of the bodies; two curves meeting inside.
Pillow soaked emotions, crisp sheets of a former
time. Kissing and cuddling, to reimagine anew
reason why I call you mine.

The tickles down spine, river flow in streams
in it's continuous body. A candle at night,
by the side to light this activity of a nightlife.
Brushing affection under covers beneath the feet,
and such a treat. Blood rushing to the face, of
red cheeks. As like two of the sweetest overripe apples.

Toes so shaky as business hands at the longest meet
and greet, Overjoyed as if it were a last dance,
Would you at least dance one last dance with me?
A tango in the sheets—rhythms and postures, and
abrupt pauses.

Oh your sweet perfume, blows loveliness in the wind,
in a kiss of a breeze—as our tongues caught in a knot.
Twisting in the unturned direction of an advance,
a paid forward gesture of asking you out on a dinner date.
Hoping in simple conversation, we could relate. And by fate
I hoped from that day, you'd be my forever mate.

A tiny spark can start a fire, so I hoped to kindle
a little joy to burn eternally throughout the years.
For the echo flame to continue on after the children's birth.

Mother earth, of your womb and breast as a giver and
sustainer of life. Tis a pen *******; of words cutting deep
of my favourable piece. I'm seamlessly inspired as I write.  
You're a sight for words, breathless at the first take, and I
could bet my words to describe, such a passion of love has even
more words to express.

But for this time, three hundred and fifty two words
is all I could get. I hope that's okay?
Oh sorrowful song,
As the chords they go—lifting minors
And falling majors, flat to the eyes, D minor
Of the saddest song:

                    He sings with a choke of voice
                    Smoke from the lungs, a smokers abyss
                    His pipes are cold,
                    Blackened in the airways of the exhaust
                    Exhausted by the pleasures; only pleasurable at first.

Oh where are the words
The words to speak ill of another colour
Must of been caught up in the smoke—in the years
The years he said them marginalizing without remorse
In it's race, sped into discriminating; on his own tracks
Of how the world must only revolve around him
His wife had shed a tear in her prayers, "Lord do a working in him"

                   But his heart was made cold and hard
                   A stone—paved by cement of his opinions concrete
                   His racist abuse was made public, non discreet
                   So how would he fit a colour of world being discrete?

Oh the upbringing, hierarchy forced in eyes
To follow a father's pride—a fitting bride
He was unaware she wasn't hundred percent white
And in the end, both father and son died alike
Ironically chocked by the black smoke rewarding cancer inside

                    The sad life of the black smoke racist🚬

                        The son hopes not to follow his father's line of smoke.
I owe you my attention
Jesus you owe me nothing
You can do all you can do
I'm tired of being restless
When I can't see myself
You can see me through and through

Caught up in my affection
No one loves me as you do
I come to you in repentance
I just owe you my attention
Giving every piece of my heart all to you

Nothing is as substantial
Jesus you're all that matters
In the questions of the world
I put you first, and trust your answers

You're a gold ring, and a rose
Covenants you've made—so beautiful
All the words you spoke, I'm in awe

Coming back for your bride
Let me make her pleasingly pure
Coming to fill my entire heart
Let me clear space in every room
Lord I need you now—I need you

I owe you my attention
I am so empty, being a vessel
Broken as I am, you still give blessing
I just owe you my attention

Lord you have all my attention

In Jesus name, Amen.
Sep 5 · 54
—He builds the house
  She makes it home
   And both make it
    Home sweet home
Sep 4 · 95
He is profound
The tumbling walls of being too proud,
the mix of different shades of white colours,
The snobbish voices of the common crowd.
They'll bash your crown, to be renowned.

They kissed my lips that bruised my tongue,
said scornful words, and sarcastic remarks.
But you care for them still—all out love.

They spat my name to call it dumb,
held out their chest to prove me clown.
But you care for them still—all out love.

How is it you see them as the children
you love, is so
Sep 4 · 45
Heaven's stage
The Heaven's curtains fall
The stage set of the world
Formed in words, in the light you see—creations of earth
In a script written in eternal
The fire in your eyes, the passions they burn

In music chords, the song to the world
A hymn in tongues, a voice aloud set in the Heaven's bound
Trumpet sounds, I hear his army amongst the clouds
The stars make the background, the lights of eyes
And the action done in after reading the Word

It was all profound,
Words felt so little to be formed by mouth
On the Heaven's stage, the Earth was set
The scene of His play in the atmosphere
My role in it all—He isn't done yet
Sep 2 · 34
Life's shoes
Tearing my skin,
questioning my worth, and letting all of the enemies seep in.
Fighting my thoughts, fighting my cause; so angry at the Lord,
and counting all of my flaws.

Trying to be myself,
but failing to really get enough in a day. Telling myself to pray,
but there’s a deep hate inside of my heart.
Wondering if it’s okay to play a role that’s not even my part.

Beneath all the writings I have,
a dollar a word; how much would I have earned? Are all these
struggles a part of the many things I deserve?
Itching at a nerve, doing the most work I perceive, but
the surrounding eyes don’t really believe.  (Believe in me)

In every shadow,
I’m an echo of those pains, thoughts of, “does the Lord really
save, or picks His children in Heaven’s book of few chosen names?
Soul selling, death bounding, riches of the worthless all going to Hell.
It’s the smell of earthy pleasures. If I wanted them all, what would
be it’s cost and measures?

Momma's boy, daddy’s disappointment,
all ships ahoy, attracting the attention of those now unemployed.
Let’s flip a coin, and bet your fortunes on two sides of luck. Don’t
start selling yourself short now, you’ll just be playing a constant
game of catch up.

Aren’t you fed up,
fully fooled by food for thoughts you’ll never use up? What the ****,
I was supposed to be a twenty one independent. But the dreams of
that child, I low-key ****** them up. (Excuse my French)

Apologies to my youth,
the self abuse, the tragic roots, and the youthful experiences
I never had a use. Don’t grow up too fast, because you’ll never
fit in life’s big *** shoes.

What’s the use?
And if I became a rapper, I probably wouldn't rap long (True)
Being known for writing out another sad song
As they say, 'choose your poison—my poison is life
'Choose your weapon—my pen is a ****** knife
Flavour your values, my character is a little bit of spice
A mix of overly nice, I tried to grow some ice
But the soft waters remain still warm from my eyes
Working harder when I cry, those waterworks are real
Tried to help people out of some good sense of will
But all the investments in people hasn't paid me still
(Still broke)

We built our reality on some broken dreams
Thought we would be married around twenty three
I know I've disappointed you kid, promising to achieve our dreams
Now I'd hate for myself to look for achievements inside of me
We don't know what it feels like to be truly happy
And I know our biggest fear is to disappoint the entire family (Woah)

We're not done with the disappointing jobs
We got a couple more years of time to sob
They don't think you're much of a man
And being a writer doesn't fit well with their logical plan
You still **** at being a good man of his romance
You never even got the chance to own that collection of Vans
The suicidal thoughts are still lurking in your mind
And you've dreamt up so many ways of how to die
At the funerals still refusing to show emotion and cry
You still make up ninety percent of all your smiles (Sigh)
As we're currently still going through those constant trials
Hey younger me, welcome to hell of this adult life

We built our reality on some broken dreams
Thought we would be married around twenty three
I know I've disappointed you kid, promising to achieve our dreams
Now I'd hate for myself to look for achievements inside of me
We don't know what it feels like to be truly happy
And I know our biggest fear is to disappoint the entire family (Woah)
Sep 1 · 75
This is for the King
So this is for the King—the one who died for my sin, and also
for putting fresh breath inside of me. As an adolescent teen, I
was trying to put together all the useless things that I believe.
I was just being a human being; with not a lot of things to give,
still I do have this thing, called his Holy spirit within. This is for
the King.

I was so tired of lunch dates—deep fakes. So I had to pray for the things that aren’t as straight. With love, and grace shall I give of myself;
I am in His control. I give of my soul, and with it my all. The Lord who still cares for the lesser, giver of all  things in endless blessings. I am restless, relying on a man of this world. It’s always so cold, as the longest winter within my bones. But he told me of my self worth. Goodness deemed upon me, that renders me free. I'll sing praises to him. This is for the King.

I was born, baring the many of life’s struggles. Wasn't good to
mix in with others. Or to get along with a few cousins. What have
they made of me now? An older boy, not feeling too proud. Wow!
As fit, I’m not built to take on the entire weight of the world, I've often been told. But I'm rejoicing in those sufferings, knowing my heart gains great endurance. That my praises to Him be amongst the purest. I’ve surely endured my life’s greatest struggles, into this character. So to me, this struggles don't really matter. By they own; it has given me hope, so hopeful to be what the Creator has made me to be. This is for the King.

The devil tries to make my God seem small. But he doesn't know
anything of my God that he is to me—he's my all. What are peddles to a rock, rocks to a mountain, and mountains to a King, Greater is he that has Christ who lives in him. So shall your faith in Him; move all the mountains that you see. This is for the King.

This is for the King, it's all for the King. The King of kings
who resides in me. I am part of His royalty. He taught loyalty,
as I know all enemies are against me—but the the Lord is always
there for me.
Kassan Jahmal Aug 31
This a weekend shirt, that some people wear you
down on a weekend shift. I met a nice girl at a party,
where it was a plus one, yet the body was a plus two.
If she fell in love with my sharp mind, I'd plead to her,
"I hope it never cuts you"

But here's a plot twist; when you share your heart
with someone so heartless, You pray that they would
love you regardless. But here's how the continuation of
that story goes:

A young boy activity, activities of extra curriculum,
used of messing around with girls. Open conversations,
with closed results. Still needing them all. Energies so little,
but loads of choices we can make to be safe. Riding the front
tooth for a bite of love, and kissing in perfect waves.

I’ve got nickels, quarters and dimes, of all the money on
girls overspent. So maybe there’s a cost to the regrets.
Of the lack of sense I’ve got left. Owed the change, to the
better things of my life cares. Or those truths after dares.

Resemble this, when you remember this.
When you’re still young calling any potential a Miss.
“I miss you texts,“ under the blankets, with the lights glaring
in my eyes. I send happy emojis, as if that’s how I really smile.
Don’t forget to say good morning, or at least say hi after your
tender goodbye. Oh wait! Never mind.

I’ll just type the message with my data off. Turn it on in
the morning, and the message is sent to look like the sweetest
actions of sweet words.

“Hello,“ we open ourselves to casual talk.
Cheering each other up for the day, and the struggles we’ll
face at work. “Of course I’ll be thinking about you till the last,"
I’ll say as a start into sexting for some breakfast lust.

Put on that mask, not for my mouth or nose,
but for the face scars. Untrimmed beard, awkward growing hairs,
and a comb making sparks through the sounds of knots.
Put on my favourite red long socks, and pull out my jewellery
out of their treasure box.

I get a quick text from her, and read the message as a notification.
Thinking about the best reply to use while putting on my shoes,
and promising to make it to her place, if she shares the right location. Lotion on my face, heavy cologne on my neck.

Spray, Spray!

Vaseline on my morning dry lips, lick it into place
so petroleum stays in it’s grips. Spending the Friday morning skipping through work. The final whistle blows, thinking I can
get my whistle blown. And here I am again; off into the world.

In town on my phone long texting this girl. Oh how will
this story go? Who really knows, but just it’s end. As her and I pretend to still be friends.

A word to hide behind our guilt. Making myself out as
the *** guru in quick words, but that’s not how I was built.

So as I got close to the deed’s door, I just run off.
I couldn’t play the song to the dance of chance,
without the right chords. So in the end, I just found myself
better off staying the weekend at home. Peacefully alone.

I'm that weekend shirt. And feeling like a piece of shirt.
Aug 31 · 58
~Black sheep
Kassan Jahmal Aug 31
The same blood you have, is also a curse to have!
I should be glad, but I'm mad as the one dealing
with the pride of some forefathers dad.

I was taught not to place all of my blame on
how my parents had raised me.
But I can't keep blaming myself; as if they'll praise me.
I often grew up wondering what actual resemblance I
had of my dad.

The last born nobody knew, the other son all the relatives
thought was just some random nephew.
The family picture felt too big for me to be noticed in it's frame.
I felt as a son; but only a son by just the family's name.

Seems I wasn't born the same.

All the first impressions of thinking my mother
was just my aunty. Thinking I was adopted by relatives,
because my real family didn't really want me.

"Maybe I was switched at birth," I thought to myself.
We all could be walking on the same ground,
doesn't mean we're all so down to Earth.

I guess I was buried in it,
for constantly being the one to take up the family's dirt.

The theory of a twin, who died in the womb.
I've felt so incomplete. Missing the other half to make me fit.
Hoping I had died that time as a baby; when I had my first fit.

But to my twin up in Heaven I hope you're keeping that space
for both of us. By the chance my sins get ahead of me,
Could I get into Heaven by the chance of your luck?

To my father on Earth, I grew up wondering if I was ever
the son you wanted, or the one you deserved.
Maybe I secretly got on your nerves, as I felt the
disappointment in those many cuss words.

To my mother in church, I'm not your little boy anymore.
Neither that daughter you treat me as.
My manhood to peers, seemed so poor. And yet I'm the ear
that listens to all of your words, but not the mouth to tell
you my many truths by the galore.

To my brothers by name, we all knew we were never the same.
But as life went in one direction, I was the child who went
the other way. I can remember all of those harsh words
you often said. As if I'm tasting them all from too many past

To my sister I never had, life could of been easier if you
were the child the family actually had.
That's all I can say, because that's all that I have.


The Black sheep.
Aug 31 · 151
The potter's son
Kassan Jahmal Aug 31
Hey Mr Potter, it's your son Mr Artist.
Moulding structures of a liquids fill.
Your son moulds words into a tears spill.
From the clay of what story we've shaped of the day.
You and I are the same.
Kassan Jahmal Aug 31
In blades of grass—so young under the tears of sky.
Shattered, fragile in a forest made of glass.

Under a moon's walking due; as the sphere of Sun's pass.
I throw my heart's mass into the winds whisper—guided
in the voice of above compass.

I shall unmask beauty pinned in the skies, painted in the
natural scent of Earth. I yearn as the birds; singing a pleasing
song of day's first. The last sweet symphony till the earth is
no more. Before the Collapse.

Let me die singing to thy Lord,
in the following song of Heaven's chords.
Aug 31 · 59
Famed last words
Kassan Jahmal Aug 31
The price of a critically known, costs me being
secretly alone. Torn in all of the successes,
and what it took on all the stages I now perform.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

Children of a whole lot of broken homes,
too broke for the things they can't afford.
I just wanted to buy things I could hold,
a little successful wealth to call my own.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

A crying voice in a cheerful poem,
a choking **** disguised as a rose.
In my heart—all cracks and holes,
and I hope you don't see into it, to question it's morals.
I'm a thousand hurts, in a few hundred acclaimed poems.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

A desire to love; desired to have been loved,
to an open hand joy, not trapped in a glove.
Not laughing at myself, as being less than enough,
feeding on my pleasures, and but still to starve.
I have no place for my heart—but just the scars pus.
Oh where is my soul, where is my soul?

Really I don't know!
Aug 30 · 45
Kassan Jahmal Aug 30
And how they mock you still,
but to use your name to sight being righteous,
of their famous words to say, "I'm doing God's will"

The scales are peeled off my eyes—I see all
those stars, like the past fallen angels.
Falling stars, falling stars; as they brightly mock God.

To make you seem odd—oddly enough to say
they do it out of love. Out of expression, speaking proudly
public of what Biblical reading calls ungodly transgressions.
It's just another form of weapon—Lucifers walking this earth,
in innocent clothes. Church clothes of expensive taste;
letting themselves be praised by using your name.

The name of your Son; to profit off the prophet.
Marking mockery, in calling you an inspiration,
but conspiring to sound like they're doing your will.
But still, they mock you without ill. To use your name to
sight being righteous, of their famous words to say,
"I'm doing God's will"
Aug 29 · 83
Dark rooms
Kassan Jahmal Aug 29
Hotel ***—of neighbours dealing in services, buying into
the idea of momentary love by the high purchases. It's like
swerving in traffic, avoiding real love and looking for some action.
Well out here relaxing, feels **** fun. Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

On the other side, the creep behind the hole in the wall.
The married husband, setting up a *******. She's a young girl,
and a ****** to all—of what it costs to make it big. He's not so big, but will drive into her like a heavy rig. Pay her off, call a cab to
take her back home. Rinse himself, spray a little cologne to cover
up his immorals. And switch his clothes. What she doesn't know, won't hurt his wife at all. Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

But she's in another room downstairs, getting tongue licks
downstairs—downtown. The young man isn't to proud, at least
with the fact he wasn't the first one pointing her down his south.
The fresh taste of adultery in their mouth—his pants are
half down. His business is hanging out; ready to close the deal of
an interesting affair. Then he'll kiss his girlfriend back at their house.
I know she's cheating on me too. Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

The cheating girlfriend is actually over eating in another room
alone. With shoes off, to stand herself and her weight.
Running to the bathroom with a finger down her throat.
A little choke, and upbringing those distasteful words. Her body
isn't her worth, and doesn't feel like the one she deserves.
Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

These are the dark rooms, of all the stories in my head.
A couple stories high, to keep me up on my bed. They turn into
dreams, or have been premonitions for a later reality as it seems.

                                                         ­            Who really knows?
Aug 29 · 100
Who destroyed the world
Kassan Jahmal Aug 29
The object of an eye
is dire to entrap my love towards,
An orb filled with desire, but as the life too—
of those suffering, and desiring to die. The figure
with his long dark coat, keeps the world in a right pocket.
His eyes red as the blood they curl. The sky is black wherever
he walks. His breath is heavy, and a black cloud of smoke.
One word swallows all, and as so—he destroyed the world.

The Devil, Man, or perhaps both.
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