Lest we wonder; who shall wonder for us, for with all
we know. We shall never know enough.

Lest we speak our mind; what more can we discuss,
speak of yourself. But also do have ears to hear.

Two unconstrained mouths; will heed nothing,
as are fools; in competition of being the most loud.

One paints a face with their spit; while making the other
a clown.

To the courters of love; pretending love is all lovely. You are
so hopelessly blind.

Behold love's beauty, she does bless your eye. Still often
a curse; to many who take her lightly.

Gain the most lessons; while still in your youth,
for what is a lesson, if you don't apply a use?

Still never pardon all mistakes because of youth;
rather live on honesty, and be well fed on truths.

As I stand — in the stillness of the night, buried in
contemplation, a tombstone looms above my head piercing
into an idea, with these horns; to charge directly at vivid
imagination. Shrouded in the night’s dead darkness; the
only colours that dance around are the deep, dark hues
that cling to my black horns – tainted.

Formless creatures haunting the silhouettes of all dreams
their fragmented forms concealing hidden depths and
buried truths — echoes of old traumas from the days of
youth, a troubled youth, long neglected – abused.

The more these horns are trimmed, the longer they seem
to stretch – spiralling directly into my vision; all I
perceive is darkness.

i cannot, cannot carve myself
into a stone; as a mind set in stone
and all of it's memories, are made of gold
as i'm buried in the dark,
like all of the seeds of my words
i spread so many in the world, hoping
one day some wisdom would grow
longing of a day, a day
that I find my composition as a poem
but what is even a poem,- a piece of
writing; i'm a piece nowadays, with an addiction
to a scanty diction
an imagery i myself pretend to imagine,
and a passing time of passion in a tone
of passive


it's me. no it's we,
it's they who try to be them
it's all of us; related- but our words'
seem not to be so relative,
these days i a poet cannot, cannot relate
to my very own poems .....  ......

I'd tell my child;
"why would you want to be like me,
when I've raised you well to be even better,
Are we not gods; created by the greater God,
as greatest is what we are. You'd seek perfection,
but being a better version of yesterday self,
is what you'll find"

I'd tell my child;
"promise me you won't fight as long, to become
the ones we've fought against. There are no true
successors to war; if the Dead are the only to know
it's end. I'd best fight those battles long before you do.

I'd tell my child;
"the world will beat you up, long before you
learn how to fight. A lover seems weak in their
eyes, but they're just weaker to love"

I'd tell my child;
"no effort is worth the effort without it's due.
Working yourself to death for another's livelihood,
seems like the slavery of old in modern times"

I'd tell you child many things, but still there are
many things I'm yet to learn and discover.  
As much as I can teach, I learn a lot from you.
I only became a father, after I became a father to you.

She's XY beautiful,
but she'll be my ex,why?
Cos not all love is so beautiful."

"Her kisses were like ivy,
and our love sickness put me on an IV"

So said the lonely man who spoke,
"love used to lay besides me, now it
only wants everyone else, besides me"

i love you-
knowing more than I should;
more than myself would,
of all past loves— that I could,
      ...so what's more of me to prove,
            with only less of myself to lose?

i've tasted doom—
of heartbreak in it's gloom;
i've been swept by love— and broke it's broom,
      ...so what's more of me to prove,
            with only less of myself to lose?

do as you'd like to assume—
dress for the occasion; in fakest love's costumes,
it won't do you good— the sweet scent; dims of it's perfume,
      ...so what's more of me to prove,
            with only less of myself to lose.

for shall we gain—
all the sweetest nothing’s sooth;
be passionate of two youths,
go dancing in the rain— without shoes,
     ...i'll have nothing to prove, less to lose,
           but in truth.. i shall always have you.

stole my heart from an empty place –
our love is a battlefield;
fighting not to kiss one last time,
and making me feel like I’m in love
before I even kindled those very sparks –
                              my chest is your fireplace.

Find myself, find myself- trying to find something to write about;
the words arrive as if they owe me a debt for the reflections
I’ve already invested. If you could loan me a few phrases,
to bank on crafting something that’s truly worth your time.

We shared a moment, you pouring out your thoughts while
I absorbed every word, my voice trapped in a writer’s block.
Kissing by that corner, parked in my feelings- we took a neutral
agreement that our first kiss would remain a secret between us.
But we had shifting ideas; you preferred discretion, while I
yearned to shout from the rooftops about finally kissing a girl.

But I… had this imagination of being able to read your mind
by your eyes spelling of tears- each time you cried out what
your first relationship should be. But could it be just me,
thinking that you were hinting at something, when you
spoke those words, to maybe pass a hint at me?

And I’m like a folding chair for the memory of you, sitting
on my mind- folding into myself; collapsing inward, delicate
as paper ready to be transformed into paper planes- the again,
I was just a guy flying around your head.

                                  A fly by night crush.

//A tear behind a smile
—it's pretty flower waters
remind me on how to cry
Blurred in between the lines
of pretending to be fine

We are all sometimes this flower
growing in amongst ashes
Do not look down on my prowess
not all brave heroes started off,
without once feeling like cowards

But given the right hour;
soon you shall conquer

Your life feels shallow,
or are you waiting for depth in empty pools?

Inhale, exhale,
a slave to my every breath.
In a life of hell,
waking up to fall close asleep to death.

All the ups and downs, one can be above it all.
Lord!

Hear the call of man,
one of paranoia through a storm.
Like loud thunders, do you hear a crying roar?

In this reign of time,
find myself hiding behind clouds.
Where echoes of lightning surrounds.
Out of the norm,
a paranoia through a storm.

I've reached the other side,
across an endless tide.
Twelve hours later,
sailed around endless seconds of time.
Now I found,
things I can't fully understand.
A foreign land,
not inhabited by any man.
How I got here isn't as shore,
after a paranoia through a storm.

Who alone knows a strain of journey,
finding yourself feels an eternity.
But if I sold myself short,
there wouldn't be much left of me.
At the end of every storm,
I'll be like the sea.

Free!

And I cry like all'
Laugh the loudest alone:
Smile with the crowd'
Talk big-
With my words so small.
Different when' no one is around.

One and two;
Those days so unlikely for you,
Three and four;
Lost the keys to lock my pride's door,
So by five and six;
Felt like I was looking for a fix,
Because seven and eight;
I was only filled with hate.

Tried my best to;
smile with all my fake friends,
Probably why I was so depressed
by just nine and ten.
Eleven elevated tears,
that never met the ground;
Twelve years of screaming to myself,
but without a sound.

Making up for time;
making thirteen daily mistakes,
And fourteen identities;
To mask away this face.
With fifteen reasons for me,
To hate living in such a lonesome way.
Being sixteen gets you so excited;
For being an adult some day.

So I skipped through seventeen;
So by eighteen I could be going out,
In this crazy world for an escaping.
Not to mention,
Nineteen was just the oddest;
And running me down out of my patience.

Twenty was only a bonus round;
Straight after I lost more than I could gain,
By the time twenty-one came around.

But at this current age,
I gained Hope for a better sense of life;
Living through daily troubles,
trying my best to be focused on His light.
Guess at twenty-two;
I gained some wisdom and better insight.

And truly numbers don't lie.

Complacent; my life experiences are
anew, of all unfamiliar places
Faces are pretty; but pretty much
the same —recalling them more than
their person's name

Maddening; in a maiden voyage
tis an odyssey of this craze, writing about love
Though I'm always so far from it
As I wonder whose dreams I'm tip toeing
in their head, as a memory

Care for me; as I'd care to not overstep
myself, while I'm running on your mind
We're both blind,
blinded in love, blinded by love,
blinded by what we'd hope is love

still we haven't met;
just being two beings, connected by
dreams —trapped in each other's heads

Well…

You heard the news, that I was finally falling
out of love — I must have forgotten your touch;
and I know it really *****, that you heard the
news from somebody else; her I’ll never love.

And have you ever kissed that taste of sweet sin;
I know I said we'd be lovers ever since we were kids,
but looking in the mirror now — I'm definitely not him!

Men go chasing after wet waters; my chasing gave
you running tears – I made you feel like a princess,
but never settled on making you, my queen.

I'm sorry for being a *******!

my sweetest sanctuary
of wishful thinking, and
only to fulfil them, as without
my fears, insecurities and undesirable
lust under hidden eyelids

i can create worlds in materials
of imagination. destroyed by
the wakes of time

i am free, though a slave to
mind pictures not often in my control

i rehearse my life before the act
of playing into this reality

i find healing in the abstract pictures
fixed into the brokenness of life
experiences

i am lost in a comfort; the converting
characters i create from reality's former

for the day only allows me
a moment's daydream
—but the night has so much more
to offer

                               ...i am a dreamer

Hopeless —only in the sense of my mind not putting enough
time to keep up with my hopes
Always like chasing a thought; overlapping you constantly
on a marathon of racing with life choices
Do I choose to give up on hope, giving into my own despairs,
or is it better for me to give hope a second try, giving myself
the necessary time to heal?

Who hasn’t once questioned themselves, questioned
by their morals; all while questioning their purpose
As I see myself as that white rabbit, hopping carelessly over
their problems
Though it’s easy for the creature to get trapped in the hole
That gaping hole to every scar; makes the land of your heart a block
of Swiss cheese. At times life stinks until you find maturity

Usually you’re the bunny hopping in freedom, or hoping to be free,
in amongst all of life’s snares, and the weakness of flesh being
tasty meat for others.

Does hope become a habit, or it falls into the hole
of the people’s Blanc De Hotot rabbit?

Beauty incarnate, blaring flames;
loudly as the spark of new love, illuminates the
world with its vibrant essence.
Feelings are ignited effortlessly, carelessly rising
like the bright glow of an orange flame,—blue desires
that sting with a burn of passionate words,
creating a fervent symphony of emotions.

Truly not enough about you is spoken about you,
for your essence transcends mere words, leaving me
tongue-tied and mesmerized.

The core of your beauty eludes description,
profoundly affecting my thoughts and senses.

For in your presence is a profound sense of calm,
a palpable peace that radiates love throughout the room,
enveloping all in its warmth. The silent yet profound gaze
of your eyes speaks volumes, embodying the depth
and wisdom, both truly remarkable; for you are WOMAN.

Woke up feelings to a morning that kind of *****; mixed a bit of ****
in my coffee cup – being blunt, that I need a higher buzz. When I cry,
my tears are always like smoke in my lungs; it just chokes me up.

In this life where people search for *******, more than the depth
of one’s inner soul – they might say they love you, but never hold you
that close. Even if our energies magnetized, I still need to know – that
if we dressed our love, would I still be attracted to you even in your
baggy clothes?

We all carry baggage – still if I showed you mine, would you
show me yours…

Pillow talk: you can be good at it, but in public you don’t have the
right words – you just rest them in your thoughts. Where you woke
up, laughing with the bad folk – the wiser eyes look at you as the
joke.

                                                      Aren’t we sometimes a terrible joke?

How We Must Bear With Those,
Possessing An
Origami Mouth;

Folding Their Hate Talk,
Into Decorative Speech

Tell Me, Even As Their
Mouth Speaks,
Does A Chef,
&

Their Own
Recipe Of Lies,

Taste The Deceit On
Their Own Lips;

What More
Their Kiss?

"To be, or not to be" (William Shakespeare from Hamlet)
As it's been asked. I question the choice to choose or
Not to choose, in the fitting affairs of what would
You do in someone else's shoes (Walking their mile)

Place yourself in another;
The life of a sister or a brother. Racial barriers:
What are they, but one's blind hatred for another colour?
If you lived the life they do, how would their
Discrimination leave an affect on you?
When the same of the world, isn't the same in your
Sphere,– a harsh word said publicly neither sheds a tear.
But you identify yourself in the identity of what
You've been told; in a world where the new is just
A reincarnation of an old.

I guess,
The hate of back then is just a new,
Coming back around all over again. On repeat:
The hurt on ourselves; repeated on children's grandchildren.
High expectations we've set get so taller and taller,
While the worth of ourselves gets so belittled by a former.

What's change with yesterday's chains,
Shame that replaces a familiar name;
Those who don't give a **** are ******
In a nation under your nose; vaguely it understands.
What do you stand for on the stands of your life,
And who do stand with,– be it your God, your family
Your friends, a husband or a wife?

Be not kind in just for appearance and status.
Trade good from the bad given, the love you have
To dilute the hate. "I know they hate us,
But it was never the hate that created us"

It was love...

So to be, or not to be: Do you be the not
Of what they want be,– or rather not to be,
Of all the world's faults, that is the question.

the taste of your smile
in this crowded room
hearts of ocean—I am blue
party next door, shut down by appearance
so real, resilience—I caught myself before
catching feelings. to have a seal on the upper
interior of my heart; high up to the ceiling

this crush is a mile
a crushing journey over you
unwisely along time—tragic fool
cleanse my teary eyes in a memory rinse
a con, convince me not to be sore
a press thumb to thump down a number
in love with the right person, but she hangs
with the worst of people dealing

Empty in African terms,
is a "coca cola glass bottle."
Strange to some,
but never strange to us.
I grew up as a child,
riding long journeys in something called a "chicken bus."

I knew about robots,
far before TV screens would show it.
But in African terms,
those robots are just traffic lights.

Green to go,
red to stop.
Amber the colour of chance in between,
and only a few would get what I mean.

I grew up speaking our common slang,
calling things a lot, by using the words "a span"
Making jokes with friends,
calling each other bra, calling another a *****.
"The rents",
meant I was referring to mom and dad of the family.

It's a wonder how I didn't fail English,
with all the made-up words we said.

Playing games in the mud,
by 5 o'clock refusing to bath.
As kids we didn't know much;
or anything close to real love.
The silly games we played on the street was all but enough.

Thinking of it back now,
the scars on my legs tell many a story.
And when I have children of my own, the memories I had,
I hope becomes apart of their African legacy.

Kids under the African sun,
how the simple times of life are long gone.

Closed eyes,
embracing you in the shadows,

The clock's chime igniting a flame
within me – resolutions!

No resolve in that fleeting moment
kissing into the new year; our midnight
kiss.

I face fatigue each time I breathe,
praying on my knees until they bleed,
Facing another stressful day I’ve got to live,
I wish I could leave, if I believe enough in all of
my dreams; I’d close my eyes just to relive, and sigh
heavily for my relief.

Oh grief, is sentiment cement on memory streets;
walking on for long, towards that unfamiliar dawn,
Listening to unfamiliar songs, hoping I never forget
where the heck I came from.

When I get famous, and lost in the crowd’s
empty praises; the quietest moments are so loud.
I hope I make my family proud, and buy my mother
that house, she’d live in happily, even if it was for a couple
hours. Really beats the days I was just borrowing flowers.

Forgetting when Mother’s day actually falls,
let me recheck my calendar to make sure.

From having bosses smile politely at me,
but refer to me by the worst of words.
I’m just nodding my head for an empty pay cheque,
spending it on necessities. But ****, that swiping
hurts!

Waiting for a day to be closing my eyes at every swipe,
no need to add, and calculate the final price,
Without all of the wants, but enough money to afford
all of my needs in life.

Let them remember me by all of these
experiences I enjoy to write.

I truly love to write...

We are a poem,
written on life's
page;

The words;
daily lyrics of
feelings;
emotions,
experiences;

As creation,
was the pen;
and God the poet.

Much worse than me are all the prior versions of myself,
all of them still stumbling through the riddle of identity.
Fate, destiny— both play me like a long lonely chord,
strumming my heartstring, a song both bitter & sweet;
truly the taste of a man’s casual defeat.

See if survival is a means to meet an end, then I’ve met
enough ends to know, each greeting feels like a farewell,
as each rise a false high that drags me lower still. And in
this place where I stand, this ground I call my own, are
the days life slowly feels like hell.

Much worse than me are the questions I can’t outrun:
do I hate myself, or do I hate the eyes that all watch me
through everyone else? “Oh, he sits on his ***, or he’s
someone just to chase ***,” they say— but truth is, I am
more of an *** to myself. Kicking myself for not doing
enough, and beating myself down for doing too much.

Much worse than me is the interference that shapes
me, this half-formed man that I keep trying to correct.
Incomplete, unfinished, still searching— as if figuring
it all out is not my burden alone, but it's the long road
of every man, he must walk.

Roused from my dreams, I find myself distant from the
images that once danced in my mind. A soft murmur of
dreams beckons, stirring weary eyes with the promise of
a new day’s embrace.  

A laugh escapes, brushed away, trapped within a
fabricated grin— shadows of tears that deepen the skin
already weary from time. Almost revelling in the illusion
that life is a triumphant race; pursuing all the things
I once fled from.  

Standing too close to the fire, of people’s words that
scorn your soul- I remain unafraid of their searing impact;
I have welcomed them all, wrapping myself in the comfort
of understanding that they hold no power over my identity
at all.

The brand of our skies lingers — soft kisses
drifting through the air, and I seem to lose every word
except for one whisper: “I love you.” As our love roars
like an anthem beneath a midnight sun, where my tears
have soaked the tired pillow of a heart that rests only
on the thought of you.

Each rhythm of speech stumbles into another pause
before a kiss, and like the taste of a wish granted, I find
my voice again, always to speak of you in reverent tones,
for you stand atop the mountain that houses my heart.

Your eyes; perhaps they’ve forgotten the worth of time.
There’s a watch not on your wrist, but bound to your leg,
always stepping over it.

And while the sun maps out your days, the moon is a pin
dropped at the final stop. Tomorrow isn’t promised —
no more than a compliment from a stranger. And just like
that stranger, it stays nameless until you dare ask its name
by dusk. Where the Sun Whispers, and the Moon Waits.

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?

On sixth day:
you made us after your likeness,
to go on to be fruitful and multiply,
The Images of worth;
of a great love's flamed fuel,
You paid for it all, for the weight of my sin.

Jesus held it all.

In the abundance of life,
Like a piece of art;
your love an ornament in my eyes.
You saw me as herald and royal,
even when I didn’t feel as much.

Bare of my heart; guiltless of my shame,
naked, being vulnerable into your love.
I have no cares of this world to sustain me,
I've been left empty by it,
though on it's rocky grounds; the righteous
aren't shaken.

As Zim life-
forces you to survive;

Swallow some pride
close your eyes;

Be close to alright
with a bright African smile;

And never forget;


                   The Lord does provide.

The life of a lonely poet...

A product of the moving circus,
a round of games in endless circles;
I'm still searching for purpose with a pocket
full of dreams, and old family curses.

That's me; like the tree of my family;
quick to leave when there's no options after plan B.
On a money diet; counting ribs of poverty,
in these busy restaurants; dreaming to swipe for meals
with my eyes closed honestly.
It's been so long; since I've been in a space of thought
were I actually belong.
Been a minute since I've written for so long; that the words
flow into a song.

The life of a lonely poet...

The skies of his life; turns a different shade of blue,
as he sees everything so beautiful in a different view.
The oceans must have kissed the tips of the sky;
all of which happens inside of his mind.
"I've got sometime to write," he tries to make the most of it,
over some work wi-fi.

Writing about a wife with his talented hand;
a love, a tradegy, a dream; mostly writing about
the things he kind of has or had.
Past tense; into future tense, but the present tense;
are all things being so intense.

The best painters of love, are those not in love,
just a picture in their head of love's sort of.
"I kind of; know how it feels,"
but a lonely poet is just writing to the audience's appeals.

Is anything real?

The life of a lonely poet...

So vicious; like the bites of those rough
kisses. That sinking bite on the lips, of a longest kiss.
So wet as two sinking ships; as the kisses are so deep.
He wishes he was writing for a physical Miss,
and having her straight after; and the taste of her lips.

Oh what a life of a lonely poet...

I wear a love-proof vest, swallowing bullets with my face—
all my scars know their taste. My hopes are all on diet to fit
today’s problems; spray-painted days, worries tagged across
the night— each thought a vandalism I can’t scrub away.

Fruitful passions, I can’t stomach passionfruit in my punch.
Life loves to punch back harder— each sip a reminder that
sweetness still bruises. Young & depressed: insecurities
overdressed, confidence underdressed, thoughts pressed
into stress.

Life asks you for a ruler, to lay it down smoother, measuring
the depth of your love. But... it doesn’t apply so well to me,
when I bunked a few lessons as a day-schooler. Always trying
to fit in by being cooler, amongst a circle of friends, but really,
we were just squares— boxed in by our insecurities; angles
sharper than the bonds we bent. And I try to pray long—
but sometimes, I digress. Sorry… what were we saying?

So much emptiness, schemes plotted against me, reality
never stretching as far as dreams. Illuding the fact, illusions
often feel more real. Interluding between horizons: am I ahead,
or beneath the dark where even stars are too shy to come out?

Hope still comes as a guest. Still wishing for superpowers:
invisible to pain, invincible to scars, shapeshifting to belong.
Force fields to block their touch. Time manipulation— just to
keep up with the times. X-ray vision to see through their false
intentions. Superspeed to outrun the pain. Healing to undo my
shame.

But in the end, I have no cape, no mask, no trick of the pen—
I'm only human. And I’ll be human to the end, recalling the
feeling of being young & depressed.

__

Still in the stillness of the night,
I dream about my own my own demise –
And I don’t know whether it’s a prophecy
or just these thoughts on suicide…

By the heat of another long summer,
all my fears spring up; unfurling like petals –
But as a pretty flower without any colour...

And I still cry myself to sleep,
always behind this pretty smile
In the cold grip of winter, I melt away -
Drowned in inner tears, and like my clothes:
I'm burdened by a heap of thoughts - more to the pile!

Kissing under the gaze of the twinkling stars,
with the moon softly illuminating our embrace,
a tender melody whispered through the night air,
its notes a gentle serenade to our budding love
—reminiscent of innocent children joyfully
chanting a prayer.

In that timeless moment,
as we became lost in each other's presence,
I found myself wishing fervently for this
enchanting connection to linger for eternity,
to be relived over and over. Nostalgia filled
my heart as I envisioned our souls intertwined
in a dance of everlasting affection, painting
our future with hues of passion and devotion.

Yet, the quiet whisper of reality began
to seep through the soft night,
reminding me that all enchantments must
eventually yield to the break of dawn.

With a wistful sigh and a sense of acceptance,
I held onto this fleeting interlude of happiness,
drawing strength from the memory of
celestial magic that had woven us together in
a cocoon of love and longing.

And so, as the first light of morning peeked
over the horizon, signaling the end of us, and
timeless embrace, I embraced the bittersweet
beauty of impermanence, cherishing the
ephemeral bliss before the rising sun
dissipated our shared moment in the
gentle embrace of the day.

I’m left bare by a grizzly burden of a bear upon my thoughts – heavy,
and hibernating; as the love of my life dashes across the winding road
of my mind – my eyes are headlights illuminating to my dear. My
love for her still endures, even when she poses her ***** questions,
“Would you still love me if I were a worm crawling through the
dirt?” Of course, my heart answers yes, for I often ponder how she so
effortlessly wiggled her way into my life.

“Does this outfit make me look fat?” she asks, and I reply with a
cheerful “no,” yet the the elephant in the room, is always remembering that fateful night when I jokingly answered yes, and I became
irrelevant over her bedside.

Yet, I am the dog, when I **** her off – but it’s okay, for I know I’ll
simply mark my territory in that doghouse. Still, like a devoted pup,
my tail wags with joy at the sound of her voice. And if my attempts to
win her back after a quarrel make her sweet on me again – then I
suppose I’m a bee, and you, my darling, I call Honey.

The reality is, we’ve always recognized the humour in my antics –
and our love is animal, untamed and primal, yet beautifully
restrained by the fervour of our unwavering devotion to one another.

The long fights,
Worth in winning the small battles
The long nights,
Shine together through the lonely shadows.

Life's battleground
where you stand,
Upon each battle we've won,
come out of them smiling glad.

Remember, you're not the only one.

Wouldn’t you like to know, the kind of dreams we could have
been — beneath the depths of the sea; cherished hopes drifting
away, swallowed by the relentless tide of time, as we strain to
glimpse the farthest reaches of eternity?

As tears cascade like a territorial downpour, your mind unravels,
as you lose the mind to all your ideas. You yearn for a peace that
brings you to your knees, a surrender so profound it echoes in
the silence.

With your eyes shut tight, you invite your heart to unveil its truths,
allowing your innermost feelings to emerge, unshackled and raw.
Yet here I stand, feeling unworthy of love’s embrace, grappling
with the remnants of healing from the scars it has left behind.

I’m trapped in a dream that's impaired – both lovely and blind.
An uncanny Eden, where beauty and confinement intertwine
in a haunting embrace.

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
YOU

And like you, IT was all so beautiful

I found myself immersed in a profound contemplation of the future,
Embarking on a mysterious journey into the unknown,
Witnessing the passage of time, transcending my youthful self,
Facing the fleeting nature of existence, like a fallen leaf,
Unprepared to depart from this earthly realm,
Ultimately, destined to become mere dust,
reunited with the very ground from which I emerged.

Your thoughts crash like thunder, a cacophony of pain, swept away
by the tempest waves of your hair; how ironic it is that men gaze
upon women’s ******* as if they were an oasis in a parched desert.
They possess a strength akin to mountains, while the valley of your
tears floods my vision. Within your form lies the purest fulfilment,
resonating through your very bones; how swiftly it transforms into
verses etched with sharp precision.

Our flesh and spirit coexist, yet they remain eternally apart – we
chase satisfaction in the simplest of joys, our spirits yearning for the
heavens, while the flesh craves a taste of heaven through one hell of
a life. With a gentle gaze, your lips ignite a wildfire, taming nothing
but the primal instincts you believe you have tamed.

The thirst for love flutters like a hummingbird, sipping from a nectar
we cannot measure, unaware of how it nourishes us or for how long.
I oscillate between life’s most profound moments – for human
pleasure demands no concentration, only the act of losing oneself
in the moment. Self-control is the very essence of that focus – yet
how swiftly our thoughts become dulled in the enigma of life.

                                            Everything is just an enigma in the end.

Do as thou,
upon thine great love,
as sweetest true.
As thy lips spoke
worded wine vines;
thine maturity is in a knoweth of you.

Tis many zephyr of voices;
solely one true whisper of truth
thine ears do hark.
Furthest miles I've tend feet;
to descry purity of goodness,
Still short, for wickedness rests of mine heart.
Unworthy by ur thought;
feeling unworthy to thou, O' God.

Still, of thine acknowledgement of love;
myself not forgotten,
as so redeemed,
Liken to a resting shadow under the rising son.

Deemed forth light;
shone out as vessels.

So Lord,
let your will be done of it's great love,
and all it's sweetest truths.
As I speak of you;
my words of grape vines,
has a maturity from knowing you.

Despite the world's many voices;
you're the whisper of truth in my ear.
I tried to find on my own,
a purity of goodness. But I fell so short,
because of the wickedness in my heart.
So I began to believe; I was unworthy,
and felt unworthy before you God.

But you still showed me your love,
remembering me;
and had me redeemed.
I was once a shadow,
but saved by the Death and Resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Now his light lives in me;
and I am his vessel.

For in first sights of morning,
he places a breath of love in my lungs,
the echoes of strength in my beating heart.
And the ways to my first steps of the day,
freely as his bountiful vessel.

To the awaited vineyard—as shaky lips are no more.
A taste of Devine; desirable passion burning as a fierce
fire. —As like my God, who has consumed my bare heart
of ravaging love.

My hungry eyes, burn eternal for my spouse.
As like ten million stars—so bright; I am blinded by love.
It is young, and untamed. As the mighty steed, wanting to
seed mates. Love is wild; but under the one you truly love,
shall it be tamed.

Shall your ears quake at the voice of your love— as your
lips call their name. It will be as the flower, twisting itself
towards the glory light. As the appetency of waters, the
nurturing and care. I pray where you set your dreams, your
love be there.

May the shape of their love be pleasing in your eyes.
As the romances be anew, of a new experiences night.
Prize them as something you could never afford, care for
them as the only you hold. Bring them up as righteous,
and blameless to the Lord. Pure and untainted —speak to
their ear the beauty of His Word.

I entreat to all. Love your beloved, as Christ loved the church.
I entreat to all. Respect your beloved, as they see you of your
worth.

On an open road, to open a world of a stranger's eyes
as the light in mine had lost its shine.
And what once was love or desire had been
thrown in time and consumed by it's fire

I was searching for something,
searching for someone...

I met an old man who wasn't okay- he said out of a
hanging cigarette, "son I'm doing drugs to **** the pain today
While lying to my family and pushing friends away,
as I'm nothing **** perfect, but I'm perfectly imperfect.
I never knew purpose, and maybe God did it on purpose"

He jumped of the edge of his dreams inside of his head,
in a colourless world —all passions were dead
in the grey smoke of cigarettes; he said, "son don't you see
I haven't prayed in awhile and can't crack a smile
I've been living on the line, but it's not drawing me still
I got children to feed, a nagging wife to satisfy and a house
of unpaid bills. I got ash in my lungs and a chimney throat,
I cough like a **** exhaust, and I'm exhausted beyond"

He didn't trust any man, or listen to gods,
his face was kind of odd, as his problems were round
Going in circles; he said, "son don't just believe a
beautiful title to a scene- you'd best **** believe that
there's more things hidden between. While praying on
your needs, some are embarrassed to pray on their knees
It's a deaf kind of silence before a man's defeat,
but you still have some time to deal with your grief
And life may take it from you, but it can't take all you
have to give. Son you best believe"

"Let your imaginations take you to places unseen
and don't let them trouble you of youth
Or let them tie you down in your shoes,
you've got nothing to prove- lest you proving how to lose
And don't lose yourself in this broken world, else you'll
end up searching for yourself. Don't look at me as a
stranger- I'm a reflection of yourself"

"We're not strangers in this this world
we're just living in a strange world"

Losing fragments of your essence— those fresh nicks from a heavy
blade on your hair; each strand carries the legacy of generations,
a tale waiting to be shared with your heirs. Ears dulled by the
overwhelming tide of emotions, as the ocean of your tears are
divided for the two days you permit yourself to weep. There’s a
Moses in your gaze, appearing on weekends when the burdens
of the week leave you feeling so weak.

Knees trembling under the weight of an unyielding deception—
striving to connect to an acceptable truth; through a faith that has
morphed like a password to someone’s compromised Wi-Fi.
Choked by the very words you struggle to articulate; those
emotions blur the line between reality and forgetfulness.

Tonight, you ventured out to dance with your own spirit—both
hands firmly on yourself; yet the crowd feels a bit too touchy,
with those who aspire to be G.O.A.Ts You turn to them and say,
“Please keep your kids in your pants.”

Your hair was shorter than the breath it takes to articulate your
thoughts, as you begin to feel like a transparent shard of glass: a ghostly
figure they see through. You entered this multitude hoping to remain
single, but to at least mingle with kindred souls who endure every hit
life throws their way, encapsulated in a brief collection of life’s greatest
hits from a solo artist’s single. We all crave that connection with people.

This pen is feeling heavy;
Writing out this weighing letter.

Writing my lyrics to the Heavens;
wondering if they'll get the message.
I won't waste on pretending. It feels
Like you've blocked the entrance.
Often you seem to forget us, as the
Devil is always out to get us.

Given a shorthand,
As it feels little for change.
And it's so sad, what you have left
Is out for game. As we're out for
Gain, straight after we call your name.

My off thoughts, in odds of
Dreaming, screaming in my head;
While battling it's demons. Deep
Thoughts, and their sunken eyes
Inside my hollow pit in my skull.
Trying my best to seem calm, stuck
In the depth of my head, as I won't try
To pretend. In it's dark abyss, a rose
Inside a grave feels more like a
                                Pretty death.

Chest beating, my emotions themselves
Could be bleeding, or leaking.
On this paper I pen wrinkles,
And leave so many stains.

I'm a tyre swing, tired of it.
Rolling over to a newest trend;
Spinning in the wheel of life, going
Round in it's constant circles, as
Everything in it tries to hurt us.

Could you point me out to a purpose.
Showing interest in my life. Truly
You could make a prophet. And let's,
Word out our blessings, instead of
Counting our losses.

I do hope you get this message.

Sincerely signed;

A child down on Earth,
Looking up to Heaven.