My floors are drenched in crimson, wine cascading
like unsolicited wisdom, a testament to my attempts at maturity,
Hoping it seeps into people’s gaze. Yet, to their astonishment,
I revel only in the celebration of my own existence.
Fragments of my being are enamoured with self-love,
serving myself a lavish feast of introspection.

In my unconventional revelries, I find my heart eager to
drift apart, tethered to someone who thrives far from the
clutches of shame. As you dwell in the dreamscape you've
crafted- a vivid mural of your own utopia; I firstly succumb
to tears on my pillow, muffling all the echoes of my anguish.

My floors remain a vivid red; every moment of pretence
fades into oblivion, yet the pain lingers. Time hangs heavy on
my wrist, each second bleeding away, striving to meet an
acceptable standard. My fears and anxieties rise with the sun's
glow, while many struggle to confront their own truths,
choosing instead to bury them deep.

My floors are undeniably red; beneath the veil of existence,
amidst the tumult of conflict—can you hear the whispers of
those desperately clinging to life, do their floors cry in
red too?

I am troubled by affections
that which you give, but I do not receive
Lost in your eyes; I see you've lost the love

Tragic!
a time you and I were magic
to read thoughts;
words on your mind I could spell
Havoc!
reaping what you sow; a pretty rose from
the garden—pierced hand of thorns

A taste of blandness
blah, blah blah, blah

I must sound like to your ears
my dreams hear you speak ill to peers
In perfect silence, can you hear the sound of a tear

                                        ...these are my tears

We are like the trees: On great mountains; as trees making
sounds in these dying moments; of dying flowers.

I too have been axed down by cowards. Had I; any better
days of this life I left?
These leaves in the wind are whispering: 'Never forget;
of all the time I spent.'

This is what a cruel world makes of you; to have your kind
be by the few. Cruelty is man,
who can make any; a story of their old.

As they who rest their confidence on size; won't be missed.
Like us; no man wishes a death like this.

As they say: 'your offsprings will take your place,'
For what you should know, I'm like you;

Let me multiple, let my seeds find root.

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

So long, so long, too long

Roses on our bed;- final remarks
on it being an attractive grave;- as for us, being in
love is to be slaves, owned by chaotic emotions.
And under the blackness of your eyes— is a pain clear
as day; confess to yourself dear love; how you worshipped
forcefully laughing through your pain.

I had worshipped every tone of your laugh,
never knowing that it represented you feeling so
breathless, constantly down the wrong path- every day,
every minute you pretended to be okay- every hour I blindly
believed we were both okay.

Pages into dreams – as their stand painted in an enigma
of beauty; being the pencil drawn to you, La Gioconda
"The joyous woman"

As they call your smile a masterpiece; man tries to
piece together every fibre of what makes it so –
“Female power”

Still, I guess parts of your story hangs in the frame of
being an unfinished work – where parts of your soul
aren’t the parts that are fully whole. But the memory
of you holds a place in history.

Of where we met; under the tears of dripping paint,
as I’d share the dreams, I traced out on my notepad’s
pages – staring an hour’s end, knowing that even as
long as I could stare at your smile, we never actually
met.

Still, I have the picture of your smile, to retrace all
the memories in my head – oh the beauty of the
Mona Lisa smile; how it does in my head.

Only when she's not around,
I find my heart cut out through my soul,
She always cuts me deep,
her love is bitter to my tongue
Sweet to my lips.
I feel stranded in an empty town,
far from my home, away from her ground.

So down in my weakness,
find my strength in the sips that I taste.
Grab hold of the back of my throat,
cutting the air. She causes me to choke.
Feels so warm inside,
down to my heart, around my pride.
She's much my weakness,
confessing my secrets to this black body mistress.

She called me every morning.

Then my lips ran dry,
far from a taste; or scent of her flavour.
She brought me pleasure,
far from enough, a feeling lasts till forever.
When will we be back together,
two thousand years since I've had a taste.

You've been gone for far too long,
miss how we met every morning.
And I swear my taste buds are calling,
I can't help myself from burning,
and I'm out here only yearning.

The craving yearn for her,
how it constantly burns.
I miss my cup of black grounded coffee.

O' baa baa,
I'm your black sheep,
who always hated school.
"Do you really want to be a fool?"
     No sir, no sir,
I'll stick to all of your rules.

As the wisdom of your head,
rests on your shoulders
   head and shoulders
"A bit too needy," I once was told.
Less nosey;
to smell good intentions.
And the coldest of hearts,
that always caught a cold.

So itsy bitsy,
to all eyes of the world.
And down their drain,
raised in the gutter of rain falls.

As roses that are red,
and the kisses are so few;
Love swept me off my feet,
so much, I broke that broom.

All that once was-
a nursery rhyme,
Lost the former-
but made, a nursery mind.

I had to leave that child behind,
for this man I went on to find.

Dive into my thoughts like a well-written tale;
to understand the part, you'll forever portray.
Embrace me in your fiery passion,
in a moment so divine -imagining it in
reverie the following day

And caress me gently; sweeter than
any dream that's ever been seen
Our love, a dream so surreal;
In moments lost, we find our appeal.
Kiss me until, we both wake up from that dream.

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.

never felt as much – thoughts on how this
crush had turned into love; and how it has
me questioning the value of time
             the right love at the wrong time

if a sunflower grows wild in the winter;
would it still find it’s place to shine – we wait
for love on empty paths and our heart’s many
phases; this seems to be the phase of real love
                   the right love at the wrong time

still are any of our moments better than
the ones before… to be honest I doubt that,
when life gives us more – looking forward to
an unwritten future, whatever it paints out as
I find myself so drawn to you, in this
                      right love at the wrong time

Black nights; up the mountain's time of 36 hours,
to tell a princess, "I'm just passing by."
She's hidden away in her tower, at the highest
point for storms to feel like light showers. By the hour,
doing her hair, for a knight to love her of her bare.

Vulnerable to a kiss, she's never really had. Everything
is a first, until she's got the permission from her dad.
She's so sad, just watching the peasants below. Listening to the
only music of the wind that will blow. Fair and beauty, rare and
cruelty, usually of the one King's rule so unruly.

But truly;

can the simple love the complex? Trading commas, just for the
compliments. It's not love if it's meant to be trapped by the
love that made one so lovely. A heaven sent goddess, so godly
unlike those who don't believe in anybody. Oh what a story, of the song. These lyrics filled of trapped lover, in the set up of
everything going wrong.

The bravest of the bunch, was the boy who spent hours kissing her behind her house. A love in secret, a fatal attraction, to a
fatal accident, on Death's wish list. Two skins of different tones,
she might have all the money to own the world. But boy did
she make him feel like everything in it, she could tell him,
"it's all yours"

But way to many kissing dilutes the taste of arising troubles.
As he had way to many, that he took a chance to snuggle.

Bang, bang!

There's this palace's King banging on the door. Caught them both
without their clothes. Better get up quick to run, ahead of the
bullet of that upcoming gun. He went out of the window, forgetting the heights he once had to climb. Fell in love, just to
fall into breaking his spine.

36 hours, the story came to an end. 36 hours was all the time
she had before it went. 36 hours later, and her only knight
was dead.

36 hours was all they both had.

as with love's sweetest eye,
be the desire to be loved,
for the apple of my eye,
shall be one.

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!

Dry of  heart
thirsting
for love.

By end' land
across
ocean' sand,
on a tiny raft
crafted
by hand.

Singing a hymn
in tongues
only he
can understand

In calm whispers
his head
is on display
like an ornament
for a
Christmas day.

Christ is quiet
and holds
onto his love
man brushes his
dry lips together
crackling loud!

He is about to
starve.

'Are you in
the sky
empty and dry
can I see you
as Sun stabs
at my eye?'

Still a quiet
response.

Soon end of
day slowly nears
vastness of dust
in place of seas.

Cries of man
cracked of voice
humid air holds
onto his
throat.

Heaven heard
children' cries
shedding her tears
ten thousand tears
kissing on land.

Covering all
with neither
a bit of shy
sweet rain, the
sweetest that ever
came.

It is truly a strange irony;-
to ponder upon the behavior of a foolish dog,
daring enough to bite the hand that nourishes them,
Just as a bee daydreaming about stinging their queen.

Tell me what sort of dreamer,
would fairly detest even a fragment of a tranquil sleep,
As someone who yearns for the warmth of love and
affection, but hurriedly scorns its gentle embrace.

I do ponder the contradiction within,
a peacemaker who harbors an aversion to perfect silence;-
A baffling realization to witness, how swiftly one can
turn against the very source of provision and care,
—that which sustains them.

Yet we persistently turn our backs on our Creator...

I have endured through the shadows of despair,
chronicling the haunting spectre of suicide,
Each word a desperate attempt to vanquish
her insidious thoughts, that creep back into
my mind.

As long as I draw breath - I live to write,
and write more so, to stay alive.

I kissed a night;-
that had promised to keep me warm inside, falling
in love with its ghost- her absence haunts me still.
Steered by the afterimage of a crafty mindset;
a dramatic picture- its frame, filled with all pains;
their hurts written in unflinching paint.

Suddenly, I find myself hanging it all on a wall;
staring at it in a perfect dark, a dark work of
art- capable of still seeing it all.

Sometimes, its just her, him, them or it;
how I choose to see it, isn’t how well I express it.
Killing time, while battling a bipolar practice
of depression; that promised me just a subtle kiss-
but had embraced me in its dark aggression.

I kissed a night;-
that had promised to keep me warm inside, and
it was that very kiss that ****** all the life out of me.

A full stop to the end of something worthy of time; -
a spot in the crowd, as a fool stops by feeling unwanted
here and everywhere else; - Less important than everybody
else; who am I if not a man silent most of the time; - sadly,
and greatly; his greatest work never becomes sublime.

Oh, it’s a curse; - that their eyes other face to
meet, but forget so rapidly an honest verse.

Still- he braves another line, despite what feels
like another pointless lie; - Still, he writes!

…as a violin with no strings,
…an endless sleep without beautiful dreams,
…a courageous bird with no wings,
…a mortal passion that never wants to die; -
              Still, he writes!

There’s something so sinister about being lost inside of yourself;-
I apply Lip Ice before I fall asleep, just in case I have to experience
That cold kiss with Death. But that’s one being, being less than
generous to oneself, and giving out a lot of degenerate excuses
Of not doing so well. Rambling picaresque; engulfed by a hardened
sense; feeding well into my own insecurities, made from haphazard
ingredients- as a soul that tastes like concluded gumbo

Still, I ate a full plate; possessing a ruthless taste; an illegitimate
descendant of experience- that ******* is tapping, watered down
By the chit and chatter of rain; a totem of pain, spoken in haste,
As my lips are a cigarette ember, kissing while heat reveals itself,
As a tiny echoed spark, in a pool full of fresh gasoline

I only hear the sound of peace, in a snoring dream, ha, I hardly
do try to breathe out of my nose. From not being altogether; are we
Really all together- who really knows? But only the dead, who truly
Get to see the entire world, as souls that rise, or of course those who fall
As its truly so sinister living as beings, in this world’s being.

As the likeness of dark; a pathway into
the mind of a depressed tormented soul,—
The beauty of their expression is a walk in
the park. There's a spark to a passionate flame to any art;
But also a hurt of creation from the echo cracks of their heart.

A mountain top I'd have to climb, a large hill made
of stone. A thorn in my side, as the bleeding anguish
to paint out favourable dreams. The kiss of so real;
in a reality painted in the colours of tears.  I've seen things
so clear, to see nothing of this world was meant to be so real.

Yet the realest tears of unanswered prayers, falls upon
the bruises of my knees. Real as knowing not all will
believe in you and your dreams. The Dark's light—is
seeing past the shadow of ominous oppressiveness.
A lasting restlessness of wanting to impress all those
around, the larger crowd, of painted smiles of daily clowns.
They'd easily praise you being brave—the loudest voice of cowards.

They would shoot you down, (bang, bang)
and after you make it big; turn around and say they're so proud.
(Enemies becoming fans) letting it be the case, humble character
wouldn't make a boastful sound. In the end I know my God has
and always been so proud.

There's always a light in the dark.

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.

Before all of this happened, or at least for
someone who can journey through time,
the way you present yourself as a kind
and deserving individual makes it feel
as though going back to meet you once more;
is a privilege that can be repeated endlessly.

Your demeanor and character seem to
transcend time itself, evoking a sense of
admiration and respect that beckons for
more encounters in the past, present, and future.

Each interaction with you feels like stepping into
a realm where the best aspects of humanity converge,
where sincerity and kindness are not only valued
but celebrated. It's as if your essence brings a sense
of comfort and familiarity that transcends the
boundaries of time and space, creating an aura
of positivity and warmth that one can't help
but be drawn towards.

So, in this realm where moments intertwine
with meaning and significance, meeting you
repeatedly feels like a continuation of a
beautiful journey that has no end in sight.

In the grand theatre of our romance,
In this courtship of our growing love
—only your parents could judge me.

In the grand theatre of our romance,
When I unveil my authentic essence
—your weeping eyes continue to love me.

In the grand theatre of our romance,
To say you're the woman of my dreams
—there’s no rest to provide you with the
justifications to profess your love for me!

Love isn’t a romantic movie…

I never heard much of love playing in my ear;
as I've never heard David's secret chord to the Lord.
The melodies of affection and adoration never caressed
my ears or resonated within my soul. The sweet symphony
of love's harmonies, like the ethereal hymns sung by angels,
were foreign to my senses.

Sitting beneath the orange hues of a radiant sunset,
I found solace under the sheltering branches of an orange tree.
The soft caress of its delicate leaves brushed against my cheeks,
a gentle reminder of nature's embrace.

It felt as if love itself had taken a bite into the core of my being, leaving me intoxicated with its sweetness.
With every gulp of life, it filled me with an abundance of
emotions, leaving me speechless in its presence.

As I peeled away the layers of my pride, surrendering to
the vulnerability of love, it felt as if my very
skin was shedding, revealing the raw essence of my soul.
Like the strings of a guitar that linger in your mouth after a
heartfelt melody, love entangled my words, weaving
a intricate web of emotions that silenced me in its grasp.
The profundity of love was a force that rendered me
speechless, for words seemed insufficient to express its
depth and magnitude.

Yet, from above, a divine intervention occurred,
painting the sky with a vivid tapestry of orange hues.
It was a visual feast, a breathtaking experience to witness
the perfect alignment of colors and light. Floating amidst
the vastness of the heavens, this celestial swirl of orange
was a testament to the magnitude of love, a display of its
boundless beauty.

Within the ever-rotating circle of this enchanting spectacle,
I discovered an unparalleled love.  An elusive concept in this imperfect world, true and perfect love revealed itself to me.

It was a love beyond human comprehension, a love that
transcended all notions of imperfection.
This divine love, the love of God, illuminated my path
and transformed my perception of what love could truly be.

There goes a heavy mind, of speaking such
a mind— which I try to do.
And its hard to admit sometimes the crack of a smile
cuts through my skin, just a few.
On the lines of lies; the straight answer sounds so crooked,
As the itch of resolve, comes from a different view, when most
of the actions seem so confused,
—used, abused, and concluded as making a lack of effort.
Oppressed, in such a depressed action; pressed out of
maturity’s wine— blood red of repentance.
I’ve failed, and have failed people; also the latter, people have
failed and have failed me also, now having to come to
terms with the fact with great acceptance.

Enduring the plank within a jealous eye;
a speck of envy entails the nonstop question of, “why,”
—the yearning for such possessions had possessed me
to speak upon another person, with such evil.
Even if I had more than what they have, it would all feel
trivial, as what is considered important by people.

Some tears at times do feel milked, that they have stained
my face with a façade of innocence.
Oftentimes, my mind comes with equal amounts of
guilt, through its own filth.
Walking with eyes focused on every step, to avoid a
reflection of themselves in the gazes of the sun,
Still the reflection displays my darkness,
as a shadow of secrets, pressed onto the ground.
For what man so desperately tries to hide, is always found out,
And what they’re not proud of, becomes the pride of the
overestimation of their lies, that have them bound.

Oh, how tall life is, and we’d fall so short of it.
Our words of praise, are as sweet as *****,
Revolting; sickening acts that say,
“Buying into the world is more important,”
Despite what the end will be, when a ticket into Heaven,
isn’t close to a cost’s fit.

Two lips are foreign before a kiss; we speak as friends,
laughing together as lovers – and hoping to finally kiss
as the latter.

But it takes time climbing up that ladder; taking each slow
step, to lead up to your matter meeting my matter; making
it really matter.

The sting of cheeks, the first time you taste something
so sweet; a flower on my lips by the scent of perfect
dreams – I’d shut my eyes each time we'd kiss; it’s just
a natural response, and one I hope lasts us both so long.

I haven’t kiss someone for so long, that it’s a taste I long.

In the depths of night, a scent of blood hangs heavy in the air,
as if the clouds themselves had wept pools of blood, for their
sorrows in the form of rain.

I gently brushed away tears from a shard of ancient, stained
glass, lost in contemplation of the countless destinations we
could have been, our adventures stretching infinitely like the
vastness of the sea.

Yet, amidst the myriad of dreams we dared to envision,
the glass whispered a profound truth:

We are only as broken as the reflections we allow our
external mirrors to see.

Dig out my chest a grave,  
Bury my heart a garden,  
**** out my wickedness,  
In the hopes of love to grow.  
To those falling in love;  
Falling out of it more,  
Rising out of that grave,    
    — Aren’t you a beautiful rose?

Tomorrow laughs at your strong belief’s certainty,
    of its arrival being a promise etched in stone.

Today holds a heavy sigh in a weary breath,
    by your indifference, to not value what you have.

While Yesterday just smiles, and boldly chuckles,
    at the endless attention you love to give her.

All the innocent eyes-
guilty of something;
Guilty pleasures that lie,
resting in between their eye.

Wide eye tears; crying all the same
—for the ringing memory bells that call your name;
all of the kisses in French are in Notre Dame, that
had placed a thousand stars in my sight’s eyes.

The blaring drums to the sum of
a sound of love — it was loud, it was rough, disastrous,
distant, and sometimes so longing; but also so caring,
hopeful, understanding, peaceful, building, and close
to my heart in the simplest kind. Vanilla like, still it
was a taste so hard to explain.

For that I am truly grateful, even if it felt brief,
I did get my plateful. So until my next fill of what
I get to feel so familiar: I look forward to falling
in love again.

the dew of my tears feels wet on tight sleeves
the sweat from my brow jumps like water in springtime
and if I could use words to describe my heart – it would
only seal away my lips

my tears are like scattering flowers
blown away by the winds – my lungs are a leafless branch
veiled in such a dry cough; choking away at my pride

nights I’ve dreamt of suicide, to live on
and tell of it lies; it was an empty void that wouldn’t fill
the belly of some hungry wild dog – and if I could speak
a fruitful prophecy for my life, my lips would be the scent of plums.

I know there’s more time we could have spent – forever striving to
close a gap between love and loathing; spreading myself thin as the
bridge I am. Parts of me still want to be your man, especially in the
solitude that envelops me, carved into twelve equal pieces; echoing
the essence of what we were and what we might have become.

Gazing into the mirror, at a reflection that won’t stare back; both of
us lost in trying to understand what they’re seeing.

My love for you echoes a silhouette; passions like dark phantoms in a
hushed chamber where you stand across – my heart is lost! What once
felt familiar is now scattered by a tempest, carrying away the words
that once escaped our kiss – two bruised lips, conjoined hips in passion,
now reduced to a mere bruised ego.

Vast eyes begin to flutter open, yet never wide enough for these tears
to escape their confines. I am filled with regret; I should have wept for
you long ago.

an old piece of paper;- rustic with words of verses to a
beautiful beginning with an awful end— a jealous pen,
towards poems that boldly write stanzas of love- starved,
drained, alone in the silence of a love life, a heart not to
beat for love- only to read about it again and again.

i am; a plain piece of paper- words, actions, desires…
all things searching, for a true love that only comes
much later. live a day, sleep over a dawn of love, and
departure a night crying about it, alone.

Delete the Text of my time – the Seconds won’t reply
Money in the Worth of time; is never worth the Money,
If all it does is Slowly eat away Pieces of your Time

No shape, but Maybe it’s shaped like your darling;
But they won't promise you the entire World

                             We live, surrounded by Time
                             Consumed by money & Wealth

The worth of self, has
Now become what
Worth
You hope to buy–

L ovely are you, my darling~
O ver my trade of thought:
V aluable, yet vulnerable;
E specially in my eyes.

S tick closely with me through;
M iles leading up to love~
I' ll hold till the last skin' hand:
L ost in your beauty' sights;
E ntirely made of that Love Smile.

I found a beautiful threshold of you
-lost somewhere, in one of my dreams
the very last of us both laughing, speaking love,
singing sweet nothings, being the best stanzas; -
these days it’s just callous lines, of a forgotten poem.

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.

An empty hand will keep on searching,
a full hand is satisfied with what appears enough
The heart pleasantly echoes an expression of love,
but it’s a blinding siren, without putting the mind to it.

The eye is the most jealous body part,
the mouth an unkind blade of a man’s great envy
The ill of man, is quickly giving a judging
depth between their sins and others;
As according to us; the next person is the greater sinner.

Your faith wasn’t a quick given,
as you learnt how to cherish it firstly, as a beginner
How you live, comes from the ways you choose to adopt,
some do start out strong, faithful, loving caring and humble,
But throw in pieces of fortune into the combination, and
their morals are bought out and lost.

Your greatest mistake is what isn’t done yesterday,
and the longest regret isn’t doing it at all
Drunkards can drink together, laugh fight, &
drink together again; yet a sobered heart, will hold
onto unforgiveness until death.

Finally and true, a childish person,
still chases after their old youth
As a child forced to grow up quickly,
despises their own youth
As you’d find bliss in a lie of your own desire,
and would be disgusted by what is spoken in Truth.

Who tries to make ends meat,
but never been fed
Pray on the daily, for just for an extra slice of bread?

I want some cake,
just to know the taste.
Make a little dough, so I can bake,
Get stuck in some beef. A while
since I've had some steak.
Put your life on the line, just to see what's at stake.

Food for thought I gave, can I have some feedback,
Light on all my responses, guess I'm just a snack.
Pray for me, with grace, and thanks.
To never overindulge, avoiding stomach cramps.

And a couple meals, to keep me fed.
Gain a couple pounds, earn a little bread.

My eyes are hungry.

Beautiful reflection; why do you seem so empty...
weighing your faith, yet your doubt overflows plenty,
plunging back into the abyss of your sadness—
your declarations of worth echo loudly, yet your lips
remain sealed, indifferent to the truth that aches to be spoken.

Beautiful reflection; why do you seem so empty...
Arms withdrawn from embrace, a gaze a sharp weapon,
severing ties to love, drifting like a forsaken leaf—
your words, mere shadows of substance, a hunger
that only leaves the soul impoverished.

Beautiful reflection; why do you seem so empty...
I should have come more often; would you expect me?
From the grime that clings to my skin, I sift through the
muck for miracles, offering a sweet smile that belies
a heart worn and weary...

Beautiful reflection; why do you seem so empty;
“cos I have gazed upon my reflection too many times,
as the glass being half empty.”

Skeletons trapped in
the closet;
trying to pick a bone,
I'm feeling so lost;
or maybe I'm just
feeling alone.

Let our memories be as gravestones;
we’d have traded in marriage certificates
for graduation certificates- place on top love and roses
Roses and tears, have gained the sweetest refrain
oh darling, forever entwined shall we always remain

Pleasingly chiselled marble slabs
every piece of our love story lettered in gold
Death makes us shrouded sleepers; beings barely
warmer than the essence of life and truest love
Love is to sacrifice self, with no intention of gain
the love ballet it is; dancing as heads of concrete bodies
I’ll lead ahead, the way into Heaven if I must go first,
as you always mattered more in the first place
Dead beneath all of our loved ones, still in an afterlife
we will live to fall in love again…

Had it been a year ago,
you'd tell me a cough would be the scariest thing to hear,
I wouldn't want to be in that year.

Had it been a year ago,
The common flu wound be the death of so many,
I'd think all common diseases are working to be my enemy.

Had it been a year ago,
the four walls of my home would be my very prison,
I'd think the year had gone against us, so I can call treason.

See,
I've feared enough in my life,
to never fear the same thing twice,
But now I see,
I'm much afraid of a sickness,
that I fear twice of my own cleanliness.

As I see,
the flu is the possible thing to take my life
Sorry, but am I even reading that right?


Now this year,
I was told to be insecure of how clean my hands are,
rather than being insecure of myself.
To make social distancing a trend,
for the sake of my health.

To now questioning how this might all end.  
Sorry but I had a more eventful  year planned out,
rather than this year instead.

Now,
tell me what is the cause,
I've heard so many theories, but who really knows.

Tell me how it got here,
I've heard it came from so many places, but I fear mostly that it might be near

Tell me why I'm in Lockdown,
the news told me it was the safer way to live, but my isolation isn't doing me the best to stay calm.

But just tell me please,
where did this Corona come from.

Was it the hands of man,
who for the many good we make, we make one bad to throw it off,
Was this the supposed plan,
decrease the population and leave them all guessing where this virus came from?

Sigh,
never mind the cause.
Why question so long of things we don't really control
Human nature often pushes us to question everyone of our flaws.

Pull away from that disease,
maybe do yourself the justice of getting on your knees
Maybe pray a little more than you'd like people to believe.
Then again you were taught well to know asking is the only way to receive.

A cure really is what our hearts are hoping dearly to receive.

But have you prayed enough,
given your all, till all was foreign to you
Taken the time to fast as much
Asked the Lord how the cure would look if the cure was in you,
and all of us.

I seem that silly to think such a thing,
but I've heard a man state "he has a dream",
And my dream is such a thing wouldn't be as hard as it seems,
We just have to believe.

Believe that we'll conquer this pandemic,
For I refuse to let a sort of flu be my death,
I won't accept it.
I may be isolated, Locked away from all my people,
But I'm still connected.

I won't shy away to check on a brother by the dial,
"Hey there brother, wanted to know if you're doing fine
Or quite bluntly are you still alive"
I kinda figured my concern of your life might add more time to mine.

I'll still be connected.
I won't be defeated,
Cause I won't accept it,
I'm broken yes,  but I still have a lot of fight within my pieces.

From them I remind myself of what I've once said,

The world is in a moment of chaos, but only as a moment.
So if the miracle the Lord has for us appears in or after the chaos we'll  be the ones to show it.
I may act a little selfish and say I own it.

But I'll never own the victory of all my people,
I've told myself, "at the end of this all we'll share this victory as equals"

We're the cure but only if we're willing

Willing enough to pray to be the cure of this virus,
I've prayed to him enough to though he wouldn't deny us
Cause he told me all our battles don't break us, but only define us.

And I'm defined to be  the cure if I'm willing,
cause I'm grown tired of people dying,
To hearing that corona did the killing.

I'll be the cure for my people,
ask them to be one for another,
To be the one's to call up a sister,
send a text to a brother.
Show compassion more than a little,
Cause right now should be the time we learn how best to love one another.
Perhaps more than a little.

And that love doesn't need a gesture of being the biggest hugger,
Rather of the simple task of checking on one other.

The cure or cause to me can't be the thing that matters
I just want my year and people back
And I'd never be much gladder.
Cause the cure or cause to me can't be the thing that matters
I just want this all to end, and go back to the days of happiness and laughter.

This life is bitter; dearly to me—as only a moment
is sweet. My eyes deafen defeat, defending it's right
to channel violence with peace.

There's a war inside of me!

A looming shadow is every brick, every corner, every
tiny echo of the walls. Of my room, my mind, heart and
unfortunate life. Fortunes of which are counted in Heaven.
A golden castle —I'd trade every brick on earth.
Trading my life away of this unsettled grief.