I have endured the gallows, revolutions,
the many twists of time, and the crashing waves
of change that have battered the shores of my life.
Through the decades that have come and gone,
I have stood as a witness to the rhythmic dance of history,
embracing the insights gleaned from its elegant movements.

The first time I encountered it, I meandered along a forest path,
surrounded by the murmurs of ancient trees, my senses finely
tuned to the secrets hidden beneath their mossy embrace.
Oblivious to what lay beneath, my curiosity propelled me
to the brink of revelation, where the curtain was drawn back,
unveiling a realm where time paused and possibilities
unfurled infinitely before me.

My skin, once marked by the trials of existence,
now glows with the light of resilience and grace, shimmering
like the morning sun as it spills golden rays upon the earth
at spring's first awakening—a tender reminder of the beauty
that emerges from enduring the darkest of nights.

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.

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.

Embrace the future's call
treasure the present's glow
and transcend the bygone flow.

Broken family ties;
are you caught up in the lies,
And could you survive?

A subtle gaze into these mesmerizing brown eyes,
captivated by the intensity of the desire that burns within
them— these eyes are like two galaxies, vast and infinite,
in which I find myself happily swirling; as the joy of all
my dreams, are like a kiss that pulls me in deeper into orbit;
a celestial dance fueled by this magnetic connection to
achieve all that seemed so impossible.

The pull is irresistible, as I find myself helplessly drawn to
it, unable to resist the gravitational force of passions.
A moment of cosmic unity, I yearn for you with a fervor that
surpasses time and space. The past becomes insignificant, and
all that matters is the present, the unyielding longing for a
touch, an embrace of accomplishments, playing out in my
life’s celestial opera.

Under the tears of sun
burned by light,

Touched by desire
and filled with fire,

I am bright as
a son of a sun.

Love is a
four letter word-
As so is time.

As the love-
you have for one;
Is time you spend.

The time in love
as what to give-
Also a four letter word.

Spend the time
you give to one-
To the fullest,
as to show true love.

__

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!

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 *******!

Hourglass figure of time;
I found the extra seconds gasping at your body as if it were
made mine. The magnum opus; of two youngsters kissing on
their parents sofas. The details of it feel less and less as I get older.
Should I be worried about the weight your name rests upon my shoulders?

So ahead of myself; is the last step I should take,
So far ahead of my thoughts; I planned out our first date.
But by the grin I forced into picture, showed it wasn’t how it came.
But I blame myself for it’s sudden change. And try hide away me being
so ashamed.

But misery knows company; my company then makes you miserable. Your texts seem always so predictable, and my pride makes me so pitiable. The hole in my heart as usual, I’m usually a nice guy but at times on a foolish will. Fitting the bill of the thrill; deceased by looks
that ****.

I look at her but I don’t see her, I see myself and broken pieces.
A taste of sorrow in the longest kisses. Wrinkles of all negative emotions we felt in our heart’s many creases.

We piled our selves on each other, driving each insane,
whether laughter, tears, pride, love, excuses and shame.
I blame it all for that reason, that both our hearts were pile driven.

Piling ourselves onto this love. We've piled enough.

Poems, sonnets, haikus, odes, songs, prose;
every one of them are trapped in a little black box—
a pen, the only key that unlocks my heart for everyone.

A box teeming with all my pains in it;
secrets or lies? There’s an eternity in that box- all my
verses are in it; some remain locked till the inevitable
death of another disregarded poet.

Oh, my little black box; filled with thoughts-
your love is less;- in an honest jest; laughing at most
of my secret ideas— ones far from their best, further less.
Writing something to forget as something less;
pieces I beget as children; I leave them so fatherless.

                                  Trapped in that little black box!

empty wrinkles in the sheets – secrets spilling from your lips;
speak of me in high regards, while digging for those words
“I love you,” that are so deep in my guts

but it takes guts to tell someone you love them, just as soon
as we’ve met – that reason that met my eyes, but is it really
meant for me – to see your real smile behind your mouth’s
many lies? we both desperately try to cut away our past,
though it's so hard, like fading your own hair the first time,
missing a few parts at the back

yet I could stare endless hours at your back – the depth of
your spine, in this empty place where you lie; in all awe of
you, I enjoyed my awe for the time. though time blushed
with me; each morning that I’m forced to leave your side,
we seem to grow even further apart

in place of our memories of last night, these empty sheets
have trapped a piece of both our hearts – but even in these
trap sheets, I still find it so hard to say, "I lov...

I've been writing as an adolescent, as a teen filled
with adult lessons. Somewhat a mix of all my confessions,
and a touch of  my deepest depressions.
I use them all as a weapon, to **** away all thoughts
of suicide. My escape is in the words I write. The pictures I
try to describe, in all the lows between my little highs.

I question a lot about life—like why the talented famous
supposedly have to die so early. To have never aged poorly;
they only respect you now out of paying respect for your death.
To pretend they were your biggest fan, or closest friend.

Why publications ask me for fees they know I can never afford,
to invest in your royalties, and never gave a chance to your
dreams worth. I've battling all my addictions, trying to fill
myself with empty pieces. Seeing girls for only kisses,
considering getting paid for being involved with a mistress.
Just to afford to start up my business, to help those in their poverty.
But obviously that's not a possibility, but it doesn't stop me from wondering.

I've had my fill of gluttony, in pleasing my flesh.
In the thresh of cutting away my chances of being blessed.
Pretty am a mess—while putting on my face of the best, and
keeping a little pride on my chest. I still don't know how to dance,
but I pretty much prance in my room before I write a poem.
Switch between writing a little more or riding my way into
watching a little ****.

I don't trust my morals, if they're not on a placement of their
foundations. Ethics are kind of shaky, if you spirit is out of
concentration. I'm seeking for good relations, but hate to be basic.
Or basically falling over a girl who's just hungry for money chasing.
And it's so frustrating, when the right one you rightly push off.  
And now it's just awkward for you both. I'm not to good with my
feelings around pretty girls.

But that's me I guess,
writing late hours when I should be in bed.
Acting as I if don't really care—so oftentimes rare.
A habit rabbit, that my eyes are a black hare. Self destructive,  
self distracting kind of traits. I'm in dire straits, Lord please
save me from psychotic ways.

I hope this isn't where I die today. After having the usual
psychotic break.

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?

Diamonds that are forever; with love not being a treasure,
nowadays the news is all depressing. We seem so relatable
when we're talking about *** things.
7.6 billion people, and the whole world still feels a bit empty.

On the inside;

Where those battles are loud, when you're just a silent echo
in the large crowd. The ear to everything; but your own problem's sound. Out aloud, screaming in your head, what if today is the day I feel a little dead? I meant to say dared; into living this life. Living the lie of where you'll finally rest when you die.

Okay, that's depressing...

Let me try a better trade of thought. Butter the centre of my fill; to feel. No big deal! Weighing the bargains of too many dreams,
and all that's real.

But next line now.

I'll take my stand in this next stanza. Even though I have more questions than there are answers. Profiting from wisdom passed down in a bonanza. There's freedom in knowing who you are,
and being lost in that extravaganza.

I'm not working on myself; but rather working on my entire surrounding. In the wake of living, where a lot of things are so alarming. I can only live by one positive statement;

WE'RE ALL SO AWESOME

Must I tell you about her locs,
That dance with the rhythm of her hips,
Watching their twist, and turn – a testament
To the tangled thoughts in every strand, a reflection
Of the tender care she donates upon her hair.

And would I love to keep a lock, and key
To her locs, being a LONG story in itself—
Free, vibrant, and unapologetically bold
The sunlight catches the rich hues of her hair;
Tales of her heritage, struggles, and her triumphs.

I swear, I promise; I must say...
Her locs are the echoes of the laughter
And tears that have shaped her journey.

We're all marvellous,
shining bright diamonds.
All the stars within us,
as God has made.
Different in places,
but we'll all bleed the same.

A marvellous people,
a tad complex simple.
All a riddle,
indeed this marvellous creature.

Marvellous are we all, all are marvels to be marveled.

Why cry behind a mountain? Because I'd love to fill it's valley rivers with my tears,
Why cry in your sleep? Because the pain of it quickly wakes me
up from that dream,
Why cry when you're happy? Because the smile doesn't show enough emotions,
Why cry in a corner? Because it's a tiny space for me to count my tears,
Why cry when no-one is watching? Because I can cry for as long as I want,
Why cry in a glass bottle? Because I've cried about spilled milk before,
Why cry in the silence. Because the sound of my emotions makes it feel real,
Why cry about the future? Because the present fills me with the feeling of weariness,
Why cry about love? Because it's so overwhelming to have, and to not have,
Why even write about crying? Because everyone cries. And yet I'm the fool asking myself these questions.

The answer is: I'm just reminding myself of all the best places,
and times to cry.

Weeping oneself to sleep – by these muddy
tears, and their questions of worth.

As the relentless sands of time erode a soul;
it's all too simple to feel like grains of river sand,
drawn by the currents of life, and banking on your
dreams; yearning for our stream of tears to lead
us to a flood of many successes.

For in those moments, we are but the weeping
sandman’s tears, drifting into the embrace of our
dreams, lost in the wet lament of our tears –

One day, we shall master the art of swimming!

Gravity becomes increasingly
envious of everyone: who've put me
down, kept me down - to let me down.

This world shoots you down for no reason;
try to make peace- there’s no treaty
Divide our kinds, but still claim we’re all equal;
give us numbers, to define the body count of our people
For war is the longest film to mankind; but it feels much
longer when it comes with a sequel.

               We’re just trying to survive
               hoping tomorrow we’ll still wake up alive.

As like a Rose,
his body was put to rest.
As many would suppose,
that the Lord Jesus lost to death.
But like a Rose that rises,
Jesus will rise to be alive

He will soon rise again.

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.

Open handed to close hand,
in between feeling sad.
Going through an endless trial
in life a bracket smile.

=)

down to my last dollar for the weekend;
chances of falling in love in a club – I can’t pay for
those feelings. crying thoughts about what it means
to be in love, with delicate watercolours. paint me as
a feeling, as pruning a rose falling piece by piece into
that pit of love

for love is so deep when it first trips you off
your feet, the sounds of it sound slow and easy in my ear –
but like club music, the dj plays a slow song, then suddenly
blares the mood with music to bleed out my ear drums

am I… bleeding out this love, coming up
with a gift of sweet nothings in chocolate box?

      love is all sparks, but any spark can be made\\
         but that real fire in your heart, comes finding
                                                        your right match.

cracks of silence –
open letter to pain,
closed doors to love
kisses of violence –
tasting it all again

cherubs from above –
devils on my shoulders;
smiles before expected losses
pretend game of true love –
these horns are placeholders
suicidal thoughts in my head
play dead inside – possums.

Reading the Bible, when Jesus died
Each time I was feeling suicidal. Grab onto the rifle,
Feeling ****** in those cycles. Who am I though, in the
These staying thoughts, wondering where to go?

Reading a newspaper, to impress the daily
Struggles of my neighbour. Asking for a teaspoon of cooking
Oil as a favour. We all bleed the same, but act as if we’re
Not made from the same creator?

Reading the comments, the racial barriers,
Looking black, but I was told I belonged to the coloureds.
White tongue speaking, too seem a little different, yet
I wasn’t regardless. A garden of people, but why did it feel
Like we weren’t any part of those pretty flowers?

Reading the gimmicks, the fake prophets, and
All of those acting religious. Irreligious, eerie thoughts
Of those seeing their own hate as a witness. Can you believe
This, or are we the generations just to repeat this?

Reading up on the icon, believing one could be my
Saviour while they’re well gone. I could remember all
Of the lyrics of a trendy song. But not enough verses of
My Bible with the dust on. Would I rise less to Heaven by
The next dawn?

Reading the tears of years, I’ve got the tragedy of
Losses to former peers. Not in death, but feels like it
When we haven’t spoken in years. It’s clear we weren’t
Here for too long, to relate on our greatest fears.

So I’m just reading, reading, reading,
Never to stop reading all that I see.
I’ve read into so much matters of this crazy world,
My eyes at times bleed.

I read on...

I smelt their blood like
A cloud of ash in the air;
Dreadfully trying to hide their faces
With a pale mask- a thinly made veil,
To urgently curtain over their enigmas

Still, I could see straight through them all;
And the sight of them charred my eyes,
Leaving my mind in an ashtray-
As by tiny little spurs; a question
Of passion was ignited:

If I could ever be a voice to these people-
A people who themselves were so lost
My words to them are yet to be found;

Oh, how to find that which is lost…
Is to understand the pain parallel to such
A terrible grief in itself…
I must lose something myself.

I'm less of a mathematician, but still counted
as a human who sometimes makes a bad decision.

As the eyes hunger for everything;- they also
betray me on a constant treason.

Misplacing most of my why's to sound a bit wise,
still that's no disguise;- to displaying true wisdom.

Empty: as the word meaning a
glass bottle in Africa.

I'd have my fill;
to the brim of life's expectations.
Expected of the plenty from the very
little I have given.

Life is that empty,
as many are trying at their fill.
On the straight and narrow, of where
it sits.

Hoping it won't spill.

How tall do you measure your glass
view of life?
Fragile are the moments; tapping on
the taps of glass.

Hoping it won't crack.

This bottle is what I make of it's fill;
Am I overburdened, or overflowing,
with the cares of the world, or whether
the Holy Spirit?

A question, only with the answer from
within; and as I ask from Him.

All living fears have me dead in my feet,
Obscure; seems be the journey too fretful to take,
So as quickly as I start, I quickly retreat.
An outstanding trend,—a show on repeat,
On the screens of my eyes; blank as the static
dancing on your fingertips. Before doing an action,
A question of, "can I really do this"

I stutter my words before a speech in normal conversation,
I I trr-rryy not to chew on the words stuck on my tongue,
So frustrating; that the point of topic lost it's concentration.
But of course,—the confidence of pretend is louder,
Than the shyness of the wisdom I still keep silent,
Would they listen to me, as youth to old? I truly do wonder.

I'm afraid of love; of that I may not find,
I'm afraid of commitment at times,
Solely in the thoughts of fearing I won't provide,
So by the divide; two sides are of searching for love,
Or letting it be as is; whether found or not,
Perhaps as hopeful to truly believe all comes from above.

I'm afraid of time; that I do not have or waste,
Likewise having so much of it, to have nothing to do,
Perhaps as ticking over the time, my toc is out of haste.
I'm afraid of myself; moments I don't recognise him,
When I do more than I expected, or less of what I hoped,
Doing his level best, but his best is always at a whim.

I'm afraid of dreams; those I may not fulfil,
My head is filled with them, unlike the successes at hand,
Which dream comes true, seems to be by God's will.
A thrill at times, but a chasing heart out of a breathless chest,
I have many targets in life, my goal is to only stand out of the rest.

Will my fears be immortalised, to leave me traumatized,
Or will I find my bravery to survive?

Even in laughter,
With the brightest smile on display
We only see what's on face;
But at the end of joy-
A heart carries grief,
Listen carefully to hear it's breaks.

Even in accomplishment,
When all cheer on one's success
We only see their gains;
But at the end of fulfilment-
A hand once carried emptiness,
Hold carefully to feel it's regrets.

Laugh, as those around laugh with you;
Smile, as others put a smile on display
Show face, as all others want to be seen;
  But those who shared in your joy-
Are not always equal in all your griefs.

Accomplish, as all feel accomplished with you;
Succeed, and all would want your success
Show gains, as all others want to obtain;
  But those who praise your fullness-
May hold nothing to your emptiness & regrets.

   Leave their, such simple ways,
   Place a footing on all wisdom;
   And walk in the way of insight.

From the wild wheat, split and well broken,
whereas nature shows her mercy to not sting
your feet; as these boundaries are meaningless
to wild creatures; as the wash of your fears is
mostly made of us leaving tear stains- waiting
for that harvest in a direction, we only know

Spit grain to a graze on a stone, hide all of your
dreams in a piece of melting snow- while the
earth is still steep, her every ocean so, so deep
As your footprints in her sand is just an empty
space; that recollection of those old skin shoes

I once thought ahead of all the questions hanging;
but answers are always so ahead of us- revelations,
above us all, oh, sweet Lord, I’m only but a small
bird, not much bigger than a person’s thought-
I don’t really soar most days, but push myself to
at least float; as the hardships of life have taught
me how to live, but haven’t taught me to fly

You're the end to all
  words to express my love.
              (fullstop)

But do we ever talk,
  with eyes so set on-
        one another?
    (we must see the words)

Do we strongly love the other,
    as the other thinks of-
            themselves?
I often see a chance for more,
          (just add a comma)

You're not one to take my
      breath, or steal my heart,
But how could I not exclaim-
    at my ears hearing your voice!
  (setting myself as an exclamation mark)

So I'd only question-
  whether the words and
          expressions,
  Are far too much?
      (I'm open to your suggestions)

In that time-
holding a weight onto my heart;
Reason be; when you were my crush,
young and we didn't know about love.
The more we kissed; it was never enough.

As we were, when we were young.

In a frantic search for my gaze,
searching my eyes just to love me- you never
truly found me in all my vibrant colours;

I apologize for the worst version of me,
that I always gave to my past lovers- I apologize
for not seeing you in all of your perfect colours;

We could have painted a beautiful picture
together.

My desires of a dream, in the sheeting of time.
I am wrapped over, by a harsh reality.
A morning sunrise, upsets dark looming eyes of fears.
Gutted by the feelings of butterflies in my stomach.
The knots of being tied to flesh.
Belittled by facts of my experience not reaching up to this word
of Love.

Seems only a word slipping out of the tongue to wet ears.
Pleasurable to be heard by our once youth.
But not of their deserving.
But what of the old, that has impressed the new, I haven’t
the slightest clue.

They sodomise my eyes
Penetrating ill content
Sickening imagery—cauterise an African man’s pride
Categorize me in a dark corner of their globe

How so the world spins
But we are to turn our eyes the other way
If not forced to conform to their ways, their ways confirm
We’re shunned from their perfect world

They created diseases to charge their victims of a cure
Stole the wealth of our land, to sell an end product labelled new
If only we knew the threat we pose, as they’ve always known
Placing bonds of pricey chains of, “hey I’ve got the latest iPhone”
Leading us to scorn our own kind; a few softwares behind,
“eek, your version is so old”

****** virgins/versions;
Non experienced in their translation of purpose
If said the future is only possible if we all connect
I guess we’re the ones always out of service
To conform to your ways to guarantee your service
—Are we your servants
Carrying the destruction of your wars like surrogates

To the outer world
That believes I still live outside
Fascinated whenever I see a white
Those of my whites from Africa somewhat more relatable
To my struggles, than an African American
Supposedly my brother from another mother

No, no, my dearest brother, you have Africa in title
But not inside of you. We weren’t taught by the same mother
We didn’t go through the same hardships
We’re more like distant cousins
Who only seem to relate by our skin colours
Even though you’d see me as different,
Though being much darker

To the outer world; altering my nation to your outer works
                  I’m sorry, but I can’t live in your perfect world

To serve Queen till death
a bee had stung my arm
and died

Tis nature, is it not?

One,
Of the ways you call my name,
Are two,
Of the reasons I always stay.

Especially when three,
Of the times you kiss my cheek,
Has given me four,
Of the reasons to skip on my feet.

I kissed you at five,
Of the times we went out.
I think I have about six,
Of the reasons for my heart to lose count.

So I must be in love to be losing count.

So live life without
a need for Google friends;
Searching for-
your identity inside of them.

My wings upon;
the falling hopes of I,
As heavens lift a buried heart,
In the tears of time,
endless as the miles to nowhere.

O'

Lover of so;
that you and I haven't met,
Many are my requests,
and these prayers of future,
Hurricanes of voices;
rhythms of choices we make,
The rhymes of pen;
all bled out onto paper.

Mobility of pen,
an agility with great nobility,
But only of those gifted the ability;
as the few residents of a poetic community.

These are the great successes;
from the hardest of times,
Within man's running thoughts,
all screaming-
"you've run out of luck, and time"

But I was running in place;
in the stillness of waiting on fate,
Despite of it being easier to wait,
how do you find what's out for you,
Being too afraid to walk out of the gate?

It may be;
an eye for an eye,
But it's the I against I;
as self-delusion makes any blind.

People can lie with the brightest smile,
stick close to your successes;
As you keep track on the race of life,
by it's undermined marathon mile.

What happened to the dreams. Where's the hope gone.
Like an old catchy tune lost through time, what happened to freedom's song.

Master, master, I call to life itself.
You left me with days long and hard.
Beat up, chained and shackled, counting the steels of being bared.
The biggest crime, being robbed of heart's wealth.

Built an empire on shaky grounds.
Now comes the storms in the distance,
Locked on my own in the center room. Hope the walls can stand the resistance.
Or whether I can find calm in the silence of dark sounds.

But what happened to me.
Holding on to all I have on a torn out Bible like my heart.
A stranger often in life's race to a quick death. Where do I find my start.
How do I see to a future with eyes that no longer see.

Fighting through my own existence and anxiety. A crushing sound in my head.
Alive for so many days but often sometimes inside I wake up dead.

Keeping the lights On in my head by the afternoon.
I were wrong to this many could say. Fearing mostly on a rising doom.

Taking a shotgun and bottle to sing through a song of sorrow.
Often seen down the chamber of the happiness I borrow.

History changing but stuck in the past. Try to move on.
Try to find the words of my song
And perhaps wake up besides a new dawn.

Still with the bit of hope I have left inside I could do more for I.
Rather than of me stuck in the past wondering why.

Than to be having black and white dreams. Painting through the dull to see a clearer picture.
Fighting with my minds eye to find it's details through a small feature.

So be the sun rises in the North, so shall where I'll point my heart to.
Where the sweet winds of freedom take the fallen leaves to,
shall I too go.

To such my freedom.

Amidst the echoes of a victorious romance, would you seek me?
In its subtle notes, I harbour every grievance, silently measuring
you against the passions of pasts, the ardour I once knew with
those I loved. The heat of your lips ignites a longing within me,
a rich Cyprus wine that awakens my very soul.

My skin bears the marks of disdain — a fallen star I proclaim,
for those who yearned for genuine love, yet bared their desires
to the world. The sincere man allowed each kiss to belong to its
rightful muse, while a desirous gaze conjures love born solely
from jealousy.

The eyes, those envious masterpieces of humanity, without
a doubt.