My two cents on the matter,
I just want the world to change.

Cast forth a handful of these pro seeds;
a promise of potential – hoping the value of
them, proceeds the muck that clings to your spirit.
The filth of your mind you must strain per sieve;
being wise to carry a filter, for all the shadows that
your mind will perceive.

As I'm learning the art of resilience;
refusing to fret whenever life wears me down
– like a flower dressed by the whims of the seasons;
whether you like it out, life is full of these changes.
So gather a bouquet of flowers on top of your head,
to remind you of such a nature, and don them as
a regal crown.

I’ve met dreams worth the future underneath their eyelids –
Those good enough to profit on; a dream’s hope for prophecy.
I sat in place of longs; longing to be heard, longing to smile,
Longing just to be – where is that perfect place of longevity?

Too many past thoughts – I’m a past life, and a list of regrets
Of course, I feel human; so humid, under these pressures of life –
Tears in my eyes, pools of emotions, and drowning in my sweat.

We'll strain walking up mountains, leading to life’s successes –
To taste that peak, and utter so proudly, “it was no easy feat,”
Even as right now, I feel stuck in place – I’ll still move my feet.

         Step by step...          Step by step...          Step by step...
                            Step by step              Step by step.

The box: a cradle for the delivery
of new life born into this world

or

the space where a man may wander aimlessly,
lost by his lack of self-control.

Black mirror tears; crying in the dark—
reflecting on things about life, throughout late nights,
Buried talk with an assortment of people nowadays;
enduring their dead conversations; also texts feeling so late.

Overbearing much— bearing on regrets that weigh heavy
on a heart; a heart only heavy by weights you choose to carry.

So, do you carry on carrying that weight; the baggage
of your eyes, carries around judgments as more court cases.

“Just in case, I need some old evidence to prove
my worth,” you say, just in case.

Afterwards cracking that mirror in the dark—how do you
really see yourself any better, if you keep hiding in the dark?

Let my memory forever be etched upon your arm,
like an exquisite tattoo that tells our story.
As you gently brush away those tears that
bear the weight of our shared moments,
know that a part of them will forever remain
imprinted on your delicate skin.

Okay, so I guess this is how it all works,
I tell you all my problems and you add it up just to tell me **** my worth."

Well to me, seems like my own heart locks itself in the slammers,
Maybe cause when I seen a pretty girl walk down the street I'm indulged by her Curves and her Angles.

And how I'm an own addict to myself.
My biggest fear is that my greatest addictions is slowing what's killing my own health.

Been missing a couple of my own old birthdays
But I tell myself "meeting new people could add happiness in some kind of more ways."
Cause it's really sad when you celebrating everyone's birthday but not even your own.
At my house blowing Birthday candles all on my own. Sometimes I feel so alone.

Yet I sometimes do find myself thinking all about of my Ex
Maybe cause the new girl I have I'd be calling her "My new best."

In this mind it feels like a running TV show but I'm still flipping through channels
And people say "I'm a nice guy," but some days it feels like I loss a piece of my manners.

And really sometimes my own Dad and I could feel too closely like the brand new guy
Deep down I really hate when we really don't show each love "Daddy in the silence could you hear me cry."

And somehow I'm supposed to Christian.
But sometimes the things I do make me feel like I'm lacking in the knowledge of wisdom

And how much I love my girl but I pray not to disappoint her,
Maybe if I were pure of heart, I would wash her feet with oil so I could just go and anoint her.

She has my thinking of kids
I love the fact but I don't want our own children to be part of the weirds.
And how I fear for my own son.
My biggest fear is that I don't be the father he needs.
And die saying "well I guess my jobs all done."

But these are the thoughts of rest
Not the perfect of men, but I try to give them my best.

And maybe this could be your theme song,
Maybe you could be singing through your troubles just to carry you along.

So to Doctor Therapy, to whoevers out there, I hope that you listening.
Cause these are the things I had to say. Hoping surely that there's nothing of some sort that you probably missing.

Just don't forget that I am Christian.
Yet still a human being, so just to know that some of these sins are so hard to be resisting.

But still tell the world of this man's story
And tell them that he tried to his best under his Glory.

And this a story for us or maybe a story only for you.
But, I'm hoping that all the words I said you find them but a bit of word of being a True

The glass of my eye, has your face in view. A bed by nights;
scented in myrrh. Fresh in the kisses of love's two. Once in
chambers of conceived room. A fairest children blessed
of a spirited mother. Destined to love while in those mother's
womb.

In April; was it made to be your name. As the windows of my
eyes are on gaze. For your kiss of sweet lilies is greatest gain.
Oldest together; in the wrinkles of time

We are the blind faith of birds believing
In these empty sightless winds,
Sugar-spun cotton candy clouds; two kites
With trailing long strings.

We require no advice on the art of how
To fly, tangled traffic threads of candy cane
Lines of the clouds of yesteryears –
Our drive is sometimes a descent down
A mountain, make the time to embrace the sky;
Glide!

I gave up on my possession of love, to make
Peace with those demons; tears cascade like
Contemporary storms, running rivulets; craters
Upon our skin as the ache of hurt deepens...

Stinging like the creases of a well-worn shirt;
Lessons etched in the fabric of new wrinkles –
Still to remain as the silhouettes of the horizon.

Across her sweatshirt, ninety-nine names
stitched like constellations —a lover finds
a hundred reasons to say why he loves you.

A slogan turned into scripture, she wears
it close to her chest; words sweating with her
on the mattress, to wait patiently, following
all the directions from the map of her heart.

I’ll mark the landscape, paint portraits of her
in my mind’s eye —learning the grammar
of her body, and the rules of her orientation.

Inside her, every detail is an interior design,
yet all of it points outward towards me.
She proves me down to earth, grounded
by the gravity of her presence.

Her breath is thick; honest words grazing
the neck like prayer; and in silence, our eyes
speak the sentences our lips can’t form.

Love repeats itself, a devotion like unanswered
prayers, whispered night after night; to find
a surrender that completes both sides of us.

I found my Hundredth Reason.

Surely I’d ask; that do the stars not play witness to a love’s beauty:
the belief in  the power of love that runs deep, like the air
we rely on to survive.

It feels like a faith in the unseen forces that sustain us; we have faith in our connections— a testament to the unwavering trust we have, even when faced with the unknown.

Oh, how each passing day can either divide or bring us much closer; seemingly creating a somewhat perfect balance between us—  two halves of a whole, each complementing the other in the ways no else can.

Seems to be a task; navigating through the seasons of every new found relationship; the weight of both parties’ mistakes, all serves as a reminder of the lessons we’ve learnt. Or rather the reminder of our human side. For our present self in thought, faces the future with sometimes a renewed sense of hope, and a determination to cherish and protect that we’ve now built.  

Brick by brick; I lay the depth of my soul, as I yearn for that deeper understanding of the purpose behind any love. — Searching for meaning and clarity, so too, seeking for guidance from a higher power.

Still, I must quarrel with myself.

For the seconds you’d spend with a lover, are as fleeting as a shooting star across the night sky; effortlessly slipping away— quietly turning into the short minutes we try to weave together in the hopes of making it the story of our lives.

Sigh, another love lived, serves as another love that will eventually leave, — and so, another chapter in the story of one’s life.

Somebody’s child is crying – who threw their crush; their infatuations
cast aside like pebbles scattered upon the shore, each one a fragment
of that unrequited love. Yet, was it not a chore; to tidy up your deeds,
and striving for perfection akin to the grains beneath the ocean’s
floor? All the tears I’ve poured into the sea were swallowed by the
ocean’s depths; I wept so fiercely that the world around me, I could
barely see.

Somebody’s child is crying – just as the pivotal words were about to
unfurl; they lay there, crushed by the weight of the receding tide. A
face marred by sorrow, with nowhere to seek refuge – why is it that
the broken are masters of masquerade, donning a façade of joy while
harbouring a heart in despair?

Somebody’s child is crying – a forgotten avian adage whispers in
the wind; you could have soared through the skies of your dreams,
had you not grown cold feet as you had caught a mind flu. You are
a beauty never to surrender to yourself, yet vanity is but a fleeting
pleasure that will inevitably fade with time. Even the famous must
eventually fade into memory; every piece you love of someone, is a
part of your own personality. Perhaps the disdain you feel for another
is merely a mirror, revealing the parts of yourself you wish to deny.

Somebody’s child is crying – and that child is you, but you can’t hear
yourself.

And in a fading dream
lost in a forest of nostalgia
Winds singing the days of old,
new to present, unlike when we were younger
Imagination it was; playing house in the yard,
imagining how we'd be as adults
Building our lives out of moulds of mud

...it's makes me laugh in tears,
of how much we've lost
from when we were young

I “borrowed,”
a customer’s purple shirt
“okay, I stole that shirt”

It looked too good,
with an ironic phrase in white words

“dreams do come true”

Do I feel guilty
about “borrowing,” that purple shirt

“I don’t really know”

But I’ll let you know
later on tomorrow, as I’ve hung it out
with an outfit, ready to go to church.

Not a fan of long hugs.
I naturally walk fast,
so it's hard for me to take slow
walks in a romantic park.

Awkward at love sometimes

Not one to give romantic kisses,
at times a hopeless romantic.
One who won't argue when it comes to dishes,
but when you ask me why I love you, I may panic.

Awkward at love sometimes

Not someone to hit the dance floor,
I have two left feet.
Don't go out a lot of times, being at home alone is my norm.
Feel shy at times when I have to greet, and overthinking a lot of things.
At times I sell myself short,
but I try not to sell you dreams.

Awkward at love sometimes

Not one to easily click with your friends,
give me sometime to get to know them.
Never had the experience of having so many girlfriends.
Feel like a five when I'm dating a ten;
and express my emotions better with a pen.

Don't cry a lot, but when I do it's not a pretty sight,
Don't get angry a lot, but when I do it even gives me a fright.
Dressing formal isn't my kind of suit,
shorts and long sleeve shirts rolled, is my signature look.
Don't like to think too much about the future,
and at times don't like being called cute.  

I'm awkward at love sometimes,
so much so it's hard to disguise.

So can I least find someone to be awkward with me too.

Just for practice, I'll test out my bars
to girls inside of my words. Written on paper,
pencil scribbling sonnets with a close eraser.

To fall in love; only in fiction,
is it fact; that I'd be a love guru to all women?
I doubt the fact; but the idea I'm in love with that.
Overly kind; for the hints of girls going over my head,
I take too long to make a move, and we end being just
friends.

My kindness mistaken for flirtatious manner,
attentive of every detail, the stories, experiences
wrapped in life's scandals. Cracking crude jokes,
and quick wits. Through juicy looking lips.

So I was told; but cocky as it sounds, you're talking
to someone taking years to be yesterday's bold.

The best of words only at their prime out of love,
out watching couples, and still someone awkward
at long hugs. Who loves referring to past scars.

Speaks the best sweet nothings to nobody listening,
Positive eyes towards love; dwindling, in the limiting
facts of love's feelings often being sickening.

A hopeless romantic writing hopeful pieces on love.

Oh to owe what isn’t owned; glorifying riches at hand to hold
— not for long. Skeletons, carcases, dust to dust, bones grow cold
as they get old; as the foundations you place your wealth on –
grow hollow once more.

As a man with absolutely nothing, has all the space in the world, to feel
they don’t belong. A man with everything counts up the credits they’re
owed, alas counting up all of the funds, to be counting down their days.

The grounds we walk on are all so slippery- constantly sliding money for
food. Working all of your life; filling up twenty-four hour slots gambling
all that one has at hand, end to end for ends meet.

We cannot hold onto time any longer then we try to hold onto money;
trying to weather through it all - it’s only easier when the weather's fine,
As hard times slip under the door, and the key to it refuses to thaw.

Still the poverty trap has steel jaws that snap, the trap of chasing money
as an escape- rises ourselves as serpents, curved to swallow our own tail.

                                  Our own tragedy of ssss…success.

The ocean blueness—fades further into the deep
A naked eye—in the needle hole,
threading old skins of past; to sew away
The present self being a stowaway.

Sheds of tears—falling from time to time
The grounds washed—drenched in eroding thought,
as the tears of an experience's memory
I've experienced so many things.

Beauty that is glorious—beauty my eyes attestor to
So seen is life—tasting all bitter sweet,
heeding the stories; touched by them all
Scented by intentions: to vocalize beauty we'd recall.

Swivel politeness—coupled by lessons from progenitor
Wisdom must be kept—holding immense value,
spoken in tongue; lips impart to succesor
Should it flow naturally in life: to your success sir.

tell me, what is the sound of a dying flower in my hands –
as it detaches from the bunch of blossoms and leaves?
the postman missed the message for me, that says,
“I’m heaven sent,”as I pictured myself a better man by
now - the mind draws, whatever aroma of heaven it dreams
of, and carries that detached scent

tell me there, Mr postman – did you grow a rose in your
pocket where I grew a small tree in my heart’s garden,
where falling leaves can be heard. if I could use words filled
with fire, I’d be a bonfire of poems burning at my creative
compost. post me on the wall of your memories, as a painting
of those falling leaves

as a darling would tell me I’m too worried about being
a leafless branch – hey there Mr postman, I finally have
the answer

the sound of crushed water from life, is just the sound
of its final tears – and I’ve heard the tears of that flower,
but it was really me crying about my own self - still being
more fragile.

Oh, dear poet of old, as I ponder on our shared past,
The irony of time's turn, a role reversal unsurpassed.
Once, you stood as the elder, wise and experienced,
Now, I find myself in your shoes, the one more advanced.

Nostalgia floods my being, memories resurfacing anew,
Like the innocent words we penned, when youth first drew.
Together we crafted a poem, a tale of popcorn's delight,
At the tender age of ten, our creativity took flight.

How funny it is, when memories unexpectedly arise,
Recalling mischievous days, crafting love's sweet guise.
Love letters for our peers, seeking help to express,
Feelings for their school crushes, a secret we'd address.

Those were the days of sharing lunches and causing a stir,
Chaos on the school buses, moments that now seem a blur.
This retrospective piece, a tribute to your resilience,
Facing challenges hidden, from prying adult's brilliance.

I remember your struggles, grappling with life's profound,
Questions of death and despair, a tightrope you walked around.
Contemplating drastic measures, to end your inner pain,
Yet, you persevered, your strength not in vain.

Your self-doubt and longing, they resonate within me,
The search for belonging, a struggle to truly be free.
But fear not, dear poet, for growth has come our way,
In finding our place, confidence blossoms each passing day.

Oh, how I lament the time we abandoned our pens,
Resorting to spoken words, a silence that never mends.
But after five long years, we reunited with our true art,
And the joy it brings, the growth, a masterpiece's start.

If only I could assure you, every word you write will be seen,
Celebrated and acknowledged, by eyes that have never been.
But alas, the reality is oftentimes unseen,
Yet, hold on to old dreams, for progress lies in between.

The journey may seem daunting, the finish line afar,
But take that brave step, and let your light become a star.
For in the depths of your soul, the fire of passion burns,
And with each word you write, a new chapter, the world learns.

By my life’s imposing conclusion;-
My poetry will all be an additional storyline
It’s words remembered; my memory but forgotten
Surely the beginning of someone else’s inspiration
-Of course, in the middle of their new found saga
  
     And by that, I shall be content.

those late texts
till my phone dies,
laughing by the corner
as i try not to,
  make a sound.
and spending late calls
on limited wi-fi.

I took that pill, and here were the symptoms:

In your eyes; I’d rather seem different, than distant—
still in the very distance, could you see me in a better light?

While coming to these unacquainted places;
meeting in between, hoping not to be as complacent.

As cutting ties, feels like cutting corners, still if I could
love someone only for a night, I’d adore the
memory of it, in that later morning.

A real tough pill to swallow.

the few parts of life that always tries to break me down; two eyes
red as tailgate lights – I’ve cried too much, now. a cut-open heart,
with these slow healing wounds to lick on; but let them look upon
you, as who you are, before they look you down

as I hold the keys to my human drive, filled with locations, times,
accidents, and monthly repairs – amongst daily commutes of
businessmen, who only take monthly communion – falling silent
to one’s busy ears, the silence told me, a friend is only a true friend
when they stand above being just a part of your peers

still, to any love I give is two loves I give – loving myself, by loving
the hands that crafted me as I am. please excuse my wet wrists –
I’m a tearful man who doesn’t cry much in public.

A for anybody; for any of you reading
into my heart. Try correct the spelling.

B for beginning; to any great story I’m
soon to tell. I hope to get your understanding.

C for seasons; oh for life’s many moments
comes with change. All reshaping.

D for decisions; mostly the critical ones
I make in a day. I do so after praying.

E for eating; especially when I’m in a such
a bad mood. Who doesn’t love eating?

F for effort; so fit to do even in the hardest
of all situations. Just keep pushing!

G for ginger; sweet and bitter at times
while trying to be polite. People are testing.

H for eish; a word I often say under a lot
of daily stress. The closest I am to swearing.

I for iron; cause life’s a pressing matter
of sorts. And close to *******.

J for Jane; I couldn’t think of a clever word
but I’d most likely crush on one. Just saying.

K for Kassan; I wouldn’t be one shying away
from loving himself. I’m quite impressing.

L for l-plate; cause I’m still learning this
race to truly love. There’s no point rushing.

M for meh; not much for me to really say
when it comes to it. Just keep it moving.

N for anything; that tickles your fancy
on happiness. Just keep on smiling.

O for oh; of all the many realizations in
this beautiful life. So mesmerising.

P for pea; not the liquid if your mind
leaks. It wasn’t a vegetable I was fond of eating.

Q for cue; maybe as the time for me to
leave, or stick in the line. Cameras always rolling.

R for are; being asked if you are ready or
you are not. Especially if it’s something daring.

S for especially; mostly in the times my points
are right. No need correcting.

T for tedious; I’m not a fan of repeating myself
too many times. Are you listening?

U for euphoria; I’ve never been the happiest
to use that word. But I’m still trying.

V for victorious; and of the vision to
see my successes far ahead. I keep on dreaming.

W for double you; seems a bit to easy
but I’d wish to have a double of you. Talking about loving.

X for excellent; as of when I write something
that fills me with joy. So exciting!

Y for why; for a curious mind hungry
for wisdom, and spirituality. I long for reasoning.

Z for zeal; the cause is done when it finally
meets it’s end. Finally granted the best finishing.

“What echoes in the void of a gun's chamber, poised at the head”
– the silencing of their countless voices howling within.
“What are the last words of a crimson blade caressing one’s throat”
– a haunting cutaway to a life now severed.
“What feeling envelops a lifeless body sprawled upon the floor”
– nothing but cold.

Does one merely attempt to compose their own funeral songs
– or weep a solitary tear for their own end, blinding themselves to
the haunting shadows of regret that herald their own downfall?
Does a fish, in a frantic bid for survival, strive to weep itself back
into existence, the moment it leaps from the depths, only to find
itself stranded? Are you familiar with the image of love's belly,
once alive with butterflies, now a dead man ensnared in a net?

The haunting questions of suicide linger like a ghostly whisper.
Can the choice to surrender to death ever truly unveil the answers
we seek? Do the celestial realms bear witness to our torment, or do
the infernal fires rejoice, growing ever fiercer with each soul they
claim?

Alas, it is only the departed who possess the knowledge of such
truths, and I shudder at the thought of being the one to unveil
such an answer myself...

Tears burn away like flowers –
Weeds tested by the flames; it’s
Euthanasia, as we put down your regrets
Spelling errors; the mistakes to your life story

We’ve stuck them up across on these walls,
Like magazine cut-outs, those many pictures
In a mind’s room – all the things a child inspired
To be; sourced drawings from thoughts, hopes
And dreams; blood and tears as ink

Tears burn away like flowers –
Digging for them with a ***; it’s
Cognitive, thinking about your very past
Moulding; what hurt us then, shapes us now

My face is moulding clay; heated up for use.

Tell me, when we kiss
is the feeling absolute –under
the vibrations of our skins;

Do tongues absolutely say
their words together, in a
perfect melody?

Are these the vibes, in our dreams –
where we hope to catch the
made-up songs, were singing
in our heads?

We’ll probably only know when
we’re truly in love, I guess!

Wait your turn, others will fail in front of you,
    Learn from where you stand
You too shall have your losses,
      But lesser the former:

Wait your turn, as love is a given,
   Still we must search
Not of a love out there, but a love
   In us—worth to be loved;
Don't chase what you can never hold,
   Nor trodden grounds of crave:

Wait your turn, till death picks you
  Not to be called by sparing lips,
Risks are life—though aren't the ones to risk your life
  Treat a moment as it's the last,—make it last:

Wait your turn, for no success comes in a day,
  No peace of heart is without pieces
Littered with worry, how do you dream?

Wait your turn, for these lessons
  Are what you'll always own,
Wait your turn, to be a father, a mother,
   A success, a people and great story
Wait your turn, my children to be
        A woman and a man.

To these incoming affections, capricious
outcoming sentiments, for an escort to date;
Would I die for anything close to true love—
honestly, I’d pray I’m not too late.

Our youth-
seemed to be all careless
So age finds and grows a child.

Peer pressured by our habits;
living in them like a habitat.
Stuck in a hole of teen depression;
as it looks to be a grey rabbit.

Your kiss feels like a petal in a violent wind;
an edible desire on my florid cheeks- blushing in my
memory of you, incessantly playing out love and seduction;-
you threaten my eyes with longing.

Swimming in an ocean of your dreams;
her waters are so clear -every tear in her eyes reflects a
better version of me; as I see my love for you is so frail
-destined to fail from every touch of our running lips;-
chasing after love, its sweet venom killed me from the start.

Darling, our love was a short poem; written in black
-for we couldn’t see its predictable conclusion;
our love was a short poem;- short, brief and obscured.

I don’t miss her, being my girl- I just miss
the feeling of not being so in love with someone,
who doesn’t love you anymore.

                          Today I wrote her a black poem.

Where light is sun, moons shall pluck, foretelling
astronomy— Of the eyes set on luck; time has
become the many seasons of quality. All in the
brief moments that soon fall away— Like roaring
thunder to the ground. Only with the heavens predicting
all time, In her eyes filled of endless knowledge,
and it's wisdom brightest as constant stars.

Praying for the light to touch my mind— Resting
on my tongue. Oh Solomon's wisdom; of having
it echo through my heart. Granted to me on Earth,
I asked of you my God.

This pain I speak of, it all comes in spasms
My walls crumble on themselves- gripping,
Tightening, constricting and then discharging

Oh how this life once filled me with pleasure,
A rush of excitement towards coming days
Touching the most sensitive parts of me
A pleasant pleasure of riding the little waves
In coupled desire and hunger, a peaceful
Ecstasy to my Divine

Now it has slowed down on itself
Accelerating on top of my angsts
For what was once the idyllic tingles in my toes;
Is now a feeling of anxiousness-
I have such cold feet

A pain of pleasuring in the company of pain
This is my self-inflicting prison
And its escape is maiden to me- a ******
In the penitentiary of this world’s *******

Why do I allow this world to leave holes in me?

An itch of an inch – scratching to reach that place we once
walked; it was almost the measure of love; with elevating
conversations that led to a level of trust. Now wearing linen
divorce clothes, to separate the time that wore us down; as I
carried a smile in a frown; as we all plant a seed of respect we
have for others, hoping in due time it flourishes.

But trust me, winter is loveless – summer is the state of your
heart, where the sun still longs to shine even when it’s hidden
behind the clouds. Love is needless, to those who only respond
by the own feelings; looking for someone just to entertain them,
by only giving them a good feeling.

As all my bones break in despair; at the sound of the skeletons,
I must break in my closet – my soul shakes like the trees caught
in a storm; with electric branches. I’ve been struck down; made
to be someone with no passion, no meaning, or digression.
Passive-aggressive – only out of annoyance; for an inch of my
life, revolves around entertaining people who show pieces of
their true colours, and still expect me to act colourblind.

How they offend my sight!

As we immerse ourselves in this ecstatic embrace,
calling upon the stars; hoping they too know our name
—they bear witness to our passion, twinkling with joy
as they watch us revel in the depths of our blissful affection.

And in their silent presence, we are reminded of
the vastness of the universe and the infinitesimal yet
profound impact of our love. We lie there, bathed in
the shimmering light of the stars, we cannot help
but plan for the future.

In the vast expanse of the sky,
where beauty knows no bounds, we pondered
the question of when our union would take place.
Our eyes, filled with the salt of the sea,
reflected the longing within our souls.
I, consumed by a solitary existence, carried
the weight of my worries in the depths of my gaze,
yearning for a wife whose name remained unknown.

In the depths of my loneliness, tears streamed
down my face, as remnants of a past self lingered behind.
Each word uttered was a testament to the pain I held within.
While others reveled in the joys of love, I stood alone,
a mere spectator at the end of my own journey.

I stood there, waiting for love to take its seat,
but found myself lost in the pit of my own heart.

Do not the ears of Heaven,
hear the heaviness in her voice;
the cries behind her throat;
the passionate tears of her soul;
And the echoes of a prayer's call?

Behind the closed door,
she's dressed with the Word;
shedding away skins of the world;
As she's then found to be bold.

She is,

whispering grieves;
exclaiming praise;
chanting tongues;
and reciting verses.

Baptised in Spirit,
covenant to faith;
blessed of plenty;
And a daughter of Great King.

Mighty is she,
mighty is He in her;
mighty is the strength of a woman's prayer;
And mighty is His strength within her.

Mighty is she,
mighty is He in her;
mighty is the strength of a woman's prayer;
And mighty is His strength within her.

My dear Bambi lover, I notice a hint of fear in your eyes tonight —
fleeing from the glint of light that dances within my eyes. It was never
my aim to send you fleeing, my dear.

Even though my affection blooms most brightly beneath the warming
hues of sunrise- fret not, for we can find solace in each other’s arms,
cradled by the soothing melodies of our cherished memories for
another twilight

Lost in sombre details, of what really hangs around morals
-Crucifix, hanging around a sinner’s neck; so choked up
While the devil speaks on my livelihood with his demons
Parading as unwanted guests; foundations of personal griefs
I am unguarded; not well versed in a couple scripture verses

Versions of my weekly self- a relaxed stance, trying to have
Faith in a life of ease. Setting aside everything else, in the
Way of being by my bedside- faithfully praying on my knees

Still if my faith is loosely based on modern people’s commitment
To their faith and integrity, I might as well be faithless as them all-  
Seated in a church; behind on my many debts, sitting at the back
Listening to the loud laughs of the greatest hypocrites,
The usual Sunday gossip, sounding clearer than a church bell
Leaders who burnt me, quick to preach how I might go to Hell

As a failed sense of wholesome community in communal
Around church clicks of skin colour, for Sunday’s different cults
In what my conscious tries to say is a domicile sanctuary:
I’m a bit reluctant to fully agree with my own self

Can’t help myself from swimming
SO DEEP,

In your thoughts –

It’s really the depth of your
conversation, that keeps me afloat.

in a silent madness;- lies a lie like a gloomy past,
my eyes become a patch of crimson under a calmy vast
expanse of solid white -every tear was like frozen milk,
stirred by the coldness of a night.

the bitterness of an unfeeling presence, like a shadow
that invades my room; my unrest continued as daylight
darkened into night.

now dawning a forced crack of smile, like the winter
cracking the night’s skyline. the trees were so upset-
frost-shocked; swinging pieces of ice tears from the
winds upsetting cries- out loudly.

the frost in my veins freezes the time I have with a
jolt; it jars at my bones- like an endless fall into
tides, all rushing away, swept into my eyes.

for even when I close them so strongly, trying to
imagine warmth -I can still hear the harsh coldness
of this cold night.

Too much pain in this empty misery
Too many snakes in the grassy yard. Really what's killing me.

Riot in the heart, it's going crazy down in the there
Riot, Riot, Riot, Riot
Control, Control, Control, Control, this could be the greatest pain I swear.

The wind is too strong, blowing my soul away
The cold nights feel too dark, when will come the other day.
Help me, help me, would the helped lend their hand to the help
Why smiles of so many people stink too well like old kelp.
This couldn't be the apocalypse but the  attitudes make it too soon
Just don't cry darling when you lose sight of a sun by early noon.

Start a riot, the heart of a oppressed disturbed the peace
Call the guards and chiefs we take your shots and pray you miss.
Hands in the air not for my surrender to you but to the King
Killed me now wouldn't really matter, going up to Heaven by Angel's Wings.

Hate me now, your hateful words could never fill my plate
I may be down and ***** but never take it as my only state.
Don't call me the beast to this game that's the name of the evil one
Don't speak his name in praise, his deeds be the ones of killing Nuns.

Riot, someone calm this storm in it's space
Lord we would need much peace in your arms. Give us your warm embrace  

Help us Dear Lord.

A story of spheres,
I'm wondering who fathered who; in the darkest
kisses all under this moon.
Oh, is the truth as clear under the sun, in the eyes
of the lonely son? Daily are the games of fun, running
away from troubles. Chasing a shot to success, like we're
all chasing a gun.

But I'm into changing thought. Like the days
that must come and go. Everything changes under
the sun that kisses the Earth.

But in all the wonders of the sky, and it's reason
and wonder. It all begs this question of, "why."
In this night, his lover is so bright, gazing upon
all of her lightness. She slowly fades out of his sight.

Wedded to his only bride, days setting,
kissing her goodnight; every time he brings
her a good morning. Saying hello as she's saying
goodbye; hurting him more in their only first sight.

Feels like a similar to my life.

"You're a pretty flower I can't hold,"
he sighs, just pondering at her marvel,

"Of the sweetest of things to behold;
you're always the one touched by my light,"
his love reflects, watching it all go to another.

"Why so, must I be allowed to watch;
as you're shining it upon my brother,"
as the story of spheres goes.

Alas, I'm often the son of the sun, in these daylight
thoughts. Anger burning my skin's surface;
but what comes in between happiness and self worth?
Successes of things I'm still chasing from birth, and
running around in three interlinked circles.
I just go back to myself in the first verse.

Again into daylight thoughts.