When is “enough” enough?
When doing too much ≠ enough. It falls somewhere
between “you care too much” + “you’re not doing a thing.”
If I say it with the sharpness of heart, it still lands blunt.
And I don’t want to come off like I’m doing a stunt
or overstaying my welcome.

But what is enough when doing nothing
starts to look like too much? —You ever feel like
the *** on the street —living on love that isn’t
concrete? Built on hope, but the cons increase.
They say it’s home, but the rent’s called unease.

Is there a way to multitask love —
a multiple of itself in a multiplied path?
A multitude of love in a multiverse math…
but it never really adds. Because it subtracts —
you. The more you give out ÷ the less you get back.
Yeah, it’s a trap. When you’re solving for X
but losing Y. Then you carry the one, but forget the why.
—
So I ask again: When is enough enough?
When devotion is debt, and love's just a sum
of what’s left. It’s never enough. But it’s always
too much. A pointless cost we still call Love.

Your presence right now;-
does truly matter, even if you feel for a moment,
all that you do doesn't seem to matter. With every
thread of your matter—the space you occupy-
is in its impactful reason, to matter.

My energy; do be spared of positive & negative charges,
as my eyes are polarized, amid lost feelings and wisdom gained.
A polaroid picture; as the sight of it, had to develop its
own film strip, of all my past memories.

Every thought plays out so carelessly, like a child
running in a candy store; the sweetest notion of a touch,
a heart smitten by the rush of an unforeseeable crush,
— crushed & pressed.

Yet; by the similar fashion of the pressure a lover gets,
when addressing their feelings; my own words feel overdressed;
as the formal appearance of a necktie and blazer.
Doing my best to suit the petition of love; it seems the attire
should have been a bulletproof vest, to protect my naked chest.

Still I’m liken to finding my actions uniform;
as an acquired fit, that mustn’t take all love the same.
But rather be consistent, and conforming to these set standards:
trust, openness, communication, boundaries & compromises.

For there is no greater selfish love, than the one, where one
party receives the fullest love; choosing not to let go of some.

It could prove wise, to avoid such matters of the heart;
for the heart is made of matter; the universal mass to be in love,
and how you treat love, does indeed affect the volume of set heart.

maybe good people do exist –
maybe we fail to see the good in people
maybe we fail to see the good in ourselves.

I'm a walking conversation,
The weird kid at the back dreaming he could change a whole nation,
Getting close to that, going to be the next demonstration.

This is just a quick story I have to run through,
But I hope it could speak to you and you and you,
The old man busy feeling so brand new.

Waiting for the day my story finds it's end,
Sleep a thousand years to dream it all on my cloudy bed,
And have a conversation with Jesus Christ my best friend.

But let me end it here this is all I have for today,
See you other time on a better day,
I'll see everybody in Heaven soon, and let's hope it's all fare play.

What do you think of me,
when I cry every time I sing,
When I'm so weak,
looking for strength in me?

How do you see me,
when I can't see myself need,
Looking to be,
someone in the world you can see?

And how do you love me,
when I'm only but a piece,
Going on to seek,
the greatest version of me?

I'm a tragedy,
but also glad to be me.

When we cease to understand the world,
fighting against it on our own.
Caught in between two sides of life,
but really just being torn.

The many tears that pour,
the flooded tears of lost ideas.
Lacking funds to fundraise my plans,
living in constant battle with poverty.
The war of the poor.

The employees,
of a Man who won't pay full labours.
But for the sake of the little
we make for our family.
How could we not do the work, as we utter,
"Yes sir".

In memory of memory,
I soon realize I've worked plenty for empty.
Do my best to set a foundation
for my future family.
I'd much prefer change,
even it was a thought for a penny.
To feel less of the world against me.

I'm not one at times to be easily loved, I'm also not one
you could quickly hate. I still appear afraid, even with a
brave face on. I could be romantic, but I might not have the
right words in person. I think a lot about ***, but feel comfortable
on the thoughts of still being a ****** (sometimes)

I'm not always moved by the crowd, or like to follow trends.
I'm photogenic, mixed with social anxiety amongst the unfamiliar
faces around. I barely raise my voice; sadly won't always be so manly.
I value family, though mine is so divided. Their subtle rude
humour is a form of love. I have it too, so I hope you don't mind it.

My music taste is a wide tongue of different genres.
Artic monkeys, Twenty one pilots, Frank Ocean, Kendrick Lamar,
Hippie sabotage, Bach, Earth Wind & Fire, and one or two songs
by Rihanna. I prefer to listen on my own—in the sense of bluetooth
speakers filling my anxious anxiety. At least with earphones on,         I feel free playing with full volume. And writing poems in great variety.

I'm learning to cope with long hugs, but just ease off from the
sides. It's a fight of being overly sensitive to touch; or me
liking those tingles at times. Or maybe I'm saving my sensitive
parts for a future wife. I try to swallow my pride, but it's like
a knife, cutting me from the inside. I've thought about suicide too
many times. Passions being only imaginative in my mind. A gift
with a curse behind, so unkind.

I'm unlike my father, only with his temper at better control.
They say my looks come from my mother; but my character
definitely is a mix of both.

I'm weird, humble, funny, emotional, girly (sometimes)
cautious, moody, caring, charismatic, shy, awkward, the worst
dancer (without a couple drinks in me) calm, wise, and still
finding out more about myself.

                                         Yep! That's basically me. (Messy Entirely)

Over the course of a lifetime,
one often finds themselves lost in nostalgia,
yearning for a bygone era.
However, being human comes with its flaws,
making us imperfect perfectionists,
enduring the growing pains that come with it.

Somewhere along the way,
we fail to realize that personal growth is not uniform.
Though we all enter this world through the same process,
born from a woman’s sacred embrace,
we are like branches of a tree,
diverging in our paths as we age.

Father Time, wise and unforgiving,
teaches us the brevity of this existence.
For just as scripture says,
“a man leaves his father and his mother,
and cleaves to his wife.”

Yesterday’s memories often become tomorrow’s regrets,
and sometimes pave the way for future repentance.
Yet, amidst the hardships of life,
some souls are fortunate enough
to be saved by unexpected miracles.

Neither the young nor the old should fade away,
for within them lies immense potential.
But even with the brightest ideas,
the world’s judgment may cloud their minds.
Sharing one’s plans with eager ears
does not guarantee attentive listeners.

Do not let those who treat you unfairly
create division within your heart.
Instead, multiply the power of love,
by loving others with both your mind and heart.

We are all stories written in the stars,
collecting memories from the depths of life’s pond.
Before this moment, existence prevailed,
and now it is your turn to create what will be.

Fall upon your knees in prayer,
but do not bow before ungodly men.
Choose not to judge,
and love them even more than they fail to love.
But be cautious not to let love blind you,
keeping a fine line of self-respect.

I am always with you,
like the echoes of past memories.
In the present, I am here to remind you,
to keep pushing forward.
Do not perceive my words as mere poetry,
for they are valuable lessons from a life lived before.

-my past is a bit like glass,
there's a few cracks; where
a lot of memories slip through

In a previous dream
—envious of the confident figure
with the confidence I never had
The wise words of a stranger, that I
never got enough of from my dad
As if could be; we could be free in
all of our lost dreams

Angels with temporary wings
temporary importance
temporary imagination
temporary temperance
all only so temporary
—in these depressing dreams

Finding the reasons to cry becomes an arduous task,
as time never seems to be on our side. It's disheartening,
but in all honesty, it's all dismissed, these thoughts and
moving on.

It might be more productive to search for another opportunity
or moment when tears can freely flow without judgment.
He often says, "sure I'm fine, very much so," attempting to
conform to societal expectations that men should suppress
their emotions and not shed tears.

The act of crying, however, feels like nothing more than a
mere suggestion; an optional response to the intense emotions
that overwhelm us. Revealing our true feelings seems to
invite a barrage of inquiries and curiosity from those around
us, causing discomfort and unease.

As a result, seeking solace and comfort from others becomes
nothing more than an illusory concept, an intangible notion
that we struggle to find.

In our pursuit of a peaceful heart, we are often bombarded
with well-meaning advice that we choose not to follow.
The idea of finding inner peace becomes a distant dream,
drowned out by the noise of societal expectations and the
pressure to adhere to conventional masculine roles.

So for now, we must learn to cry silently, bottling up our
feelings and playing the part of a stoic man today, in the
hopes that tomorrow will bring a change.

                         ...men don't cry!

I am a hanging thread, hanging onto life,
in this delicate fabric of existence; concealed in a shirt.
The fibres strain, so be gentle, for a harsh tug may
unravel my very depth.

Sewn together by dreams, woven with the strands
of hope, my soft cotton faith absorbs the anguish
that surrounds me.

I am a hanging thread, hanging on for dear life –
with a singular, poignant message to impart:

Hang in there!

Them: How do you know that you've finally gotten over your ex?

Me: When the drunk version of me laughed at the idea of texting them
late at night!

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

By night:
the wet tears are vivid of our dreams
Despite the foretold of our folklore, forbidding me
the sweet nothingness of ignorance, relayed by my blissful likening
Reality will soon bride alongside what I hoped to be a moment
--still of what time we have left,  let me put pride aside to rest

Oh yes
we are all what we hope in future—beautiful creatures formed in the
dark, to only come to light by the life in our eyes
I bid you all well; in those pursuits to success...may they not cut your eyes
But inspire lessons of your successor. Do teach the young better
For that’s all we hope to do!

May your values
Be an outshine of like the stars above your room
And may you die a peaceful death, as not a corpse flipping over in tomb
as you knit your memories in fabrication of nostalgia,
Remember this; you were woven perfectly in the womb,
not of our own human understanding; still as creations


Tis destiny to be
a roadmap upon what will be the conclusion of your story
Meet your finale with joy, honour, experiences, pain,
passion, gain, acceptance, and to praise Him of glory.

Death, is an obvious inevitable,
make every moment of life memorable
Being grave to childish thoughts is pitiful,
some people try to use you as usual
Falling for looks is foolish love,
the grass is always greener on the other side—if you water it enough
Live, laugh, let go, learn, be led, to then go lead,
love, listen, have less of boastful overtones, and have fun

The poet’s words are a gun—
they could incite by what they recite
It’s up to you to choose what sort of surrender
you pen your words to
             This message is sent out to all of you.

The night's blowouts — Are like my last candle before the night is gone. It's a comforting ritual, lighting that candle and reveling in the flickering flame... The soft glow illuminates the room, casting a gentle light on the shadows that gather. It's in these moments, in the solitude, that I find solace. I cherish the tranquility as it offers me an opportunity to reflect and escape the chaos of the world. The candle's warm glow creates a haven, —a sanctuary where I can truly be myself.

And while I don't mind being alone, there is an undeniable
pull to the memories we shared: They wrap around my mind like vines, intertwining with my thoughts and emotions.
Looking in the mirror, I see my reflection intertwined with
the shadow of your memory.
It's as if we're dancing together, across time and space,
moving in harmony with the music of our past. The melody of our shared experiences plays softly in the background, a bittersweet tune that still resonates deep within my heart.
The dance we shared was a masterpiece—,_ filled with
passion, laughter, and tears. Even though the song has
ended, its melody lingers, etching its mark on my soul.

Still like the past, the memories in it comes to pass, allowing us to grow and evolve. They are like stepping stones, guiding us towards a future where new memories are waiting to be created.
Even if I have to create a new life without you...

Ignorance in my hand, hold it too  close in my brain.
Closure in the night time streets walking a mile. Come sun or rain.
Jumping from club to club, losing a piece of myself in every building,
This drink is finally going down my system with no fight back after too many drinks. Feeling like being a little silly, with this naughty feeling.

The lights in the party are always so bright yet my soul went black.
Taking all the shots they reload in each glass. Drinking like this for all the things we lack.
All the pretty faces in here, it's a shame they won't be like this come early morning.
There be a man by the corner getting at all the girls. O'no there be his wife calling.

If my life ends up like the other vomiting his entire life into the drain,
Let me run out of here like I'm going insane.

Too late, already there from the moment I walked through those party doors,
On the hunt for the next prey to feed a man's endless hunger. Often liking to have your girls coming in fours.
The pretty ones are probably the most broken inside,
But who really cares when you just thinking about giving her next ride.


Lord save us all. Have mercy for the lost.
Credits wasted in a couple of swipes,  still spending it all tonight, tomorrow we'll all pay the cost.

Under a midnight sun; with the sounds of a substantial anthem. To those standing out, but not all can stand them—or understand them to easily brand them. It’s like a problem not to sneeze into DMs, and seeming allergic to women in the real. I have a couple mentions appearing up on reels.

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

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

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

Under a midnight sun; as a song of the dawn. Sing as loudly throughout the moments dark. Sing as proudly as what lives in you is the Son.

Raging
wars inside my head
Sleeping
buried as if dead,
Four times the strain
inside my brain,
Losing count of thoughts. I forget,
Especially now
with this aching migraine.

Shut eyes
hope to block out the ache
A couple pills
to numb myself to sleep
So much so,
I might not even wake.

And of course;  
water to wash it down
I feel so much disorder,
my brain feels upside-down
Christ almighty hears me cry,
about a thorn to the Crown.

The light surrounding,
covered with a backhand
A slap of fire strikes my front end.
Praying in
the echoes of pain,
That you silence the noises
of this constant migraine.

Cornered by anxiety; 'is it worth the read?'
Exhale heavily; inhale the pressure building up my chest,
Eyes heavy of tears, drowned by this pen's debt.
Something in my eye, blinding me to the sight of life;
A blank canvas, but only an empty creative,
Nothing to inspire at the moment, just Writer's block.

Would hate to wake in a world where we all could be perfect strangers
Closing the blinds of the windows, unseeing the happiness of close neighbours.

  Using MY hands to find the bit of control I have in only a man's Childish manners and chronic addiction,
And in me sometimes you'd find the chronic anxiety of MY own confliction.

These pills could for the hour taste a bit of sweet.  
And like the child hiding under the blankets from their daily nightmares, I would try to take it as my only retreat.
And could a man be the slave to his own well being, tying his own knot to hang himself
From the richness of a heart but spending it all that would bring you nothing. Lost in such MY entire wealth.

  Why though I would ask of someone to love me for just the night
For perhaps MY greatest fear would be to wake up alone or ride alone in a slowly crashing flight.

  Still listen closely to a heart of many troubles for a word of advice.
Sitting in such of your troubles wouldn't make you any of the difference or to ease off the pain cutting you by the slice.
My own fingers would bleed out from the splinters of the Dead box I trapped MYSELF in
Or dead out in the cold furnace of the once warm heart I'd place all MY Faith in.

  For the say to think out of the box, but I tore it up from the inside
To then find humbleness before I was choked by my own pride.

  And I got a couple trophies on MY night stand,
The reminders  of the battles won and the gaps of the battles we've lost in the pieces of the sand.

  But if I say this be where I end, I would if my watch could tell such of a time.
So till then I would not give up till everything of MY need is MiNe.

Spray paint the canvas of the night sky;
the red reflections in my eyes,
silently swallows up a thought,
to save a piece of mind.

So in my waking dream, I navigate
this intricate minefield of love’s emotions,
that all become so probable,
after calling you mine.

And you'd ask me if I see
myself in that mirror

—no,
I see only what a world has done
has labelled me, called me, rated me
expected of me, thought less of me

...unfortunately for both,
                     it's not me!

Beautiful ugly reflection –
slipping into the depths of your heartbreak;
Do you still tally your breaths – gasping for air!
At times, we drift so far from the warmth of home,
a cosmic wonder; yet the cosmos cradles the remnants
of extinguished stars.

Would you light a cigarette – to mask the fierce truths
of your spirit; those weary hands still possess a gentle
caress.

A handshake fraught with shaky bonds – bond to your
insecurities; anchoring you in a realm of perpetual self-doubt.

                   You are worth infinitely more, my mirrored self.

Mirror wise,
Blind man's reflection locked in the eyes.
So many secrets to keep, but they're mostly lies.

Oops to say I really didn't care of myself to be,
Something of a saint in people's sight. But that's not what you actually see.

Gaze at my mirror reflection, seeing something different.
Shooting every shot I had in life, getting tired of how I missed it.

Oops to say I told you so,
But I'm not the friendly type all season. Thought you should know.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
I've got troubling thoughts naming me wise by every call.
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Your cracks can't hide the facts of shortcomings being so tall.

Mirror effect,
Don't see the doubt in the reverse image. Not scared to regret.
Something I constantly expect.

A life in a mirror; so many things you
wish you could control
Of how far that it seems; if life was a mirror
could we have the ability to control all the reflections'
that we see?

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.

Had a girl with the face of the dawn,
my biggest failure was failing to leave her alone.

From her small giggle my heart had cheer,
my words lost, knees weak as sweat broke out as she was near.

A tiny whisper of her voice knocks the walls of the heart,
as the hint of her heavenly scent made angels cry.
The Heavens looked down upon such beauty so pure that no man could deny.

A glance of her many curves made your mind swerve in endless motions,
the thick of her hair was black as night and blew carelessly in the wind's whispers.
You'd fail to gaze upon her and not catch emotions. And you'd pray to all gods that surely existed to make her your Mistress.

But Mistress Beauty was never the easiest of catch.
She'd teased you with a tender hug resting her tender ******* on you, gently making you wish such a feeling could last.

Still even if you played your cards right, your deck would still be empty.
And by the next hand you'd play your last. For she's wise to the game of love and she's won that plenty.

But I was that lucky kid on the block,
a nerd to the eyes of many without much to give. But still trying to give a lot.

Still luck would have me, as I have her.
And often thinking about her by my side left my thoughts with only a blur.
But I was the guy she preferred.

So I had a girl, a Mistress of Beauty.
And though she's long gone to another man's hand, I'm still glad.
For I was first to have her hand, and glad that she knew me.

So to you Mistress Beauty. You were the only one I preferred.

We're rocking Sunday best
for all of Friday's events,
Calling everyone Auntie & Uncle,
without any of the relations.
       That's how we were raised

Calling some a boss,
mostly those who didn't
even once employ us.
We don't get angry, we just
tell you, you've made us cross.
       That's how we were raised

The adults talk of old days,
telling kids to go outside & play.
Stuck at afternoon tea party dates,
Feeling shy when mums come
with a purse lunchbox;
To take home some of the cakes.
         That's how we were raised

Taking selfies at funerals;
the same adults you never met,
Say the used to change your diapers.
'Don't you remember me,'
that statement seems to be the usual.
         That's how we were raised

Raised mixed in a world
of so many pretty colours.
I got the spice from my mother,
the pride of my father,
And the division from forefathers.

Fitting in with the blacks,
seem relatable with the whites.
But we're not always the same;
if I'm facing the true facts.
       That's not how we were raised

But how I was raised
is never going to change.
With age, you learn to accept,
And for the next-generation;
start a better story on a fresh page.

And how they mock you still,
but to use your name to sight being righteous,
of their famous words to say, "I'm doing God's will"

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

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

The name of your Son; to profit off the prophet.
Marking mockery, in calling you an inspiration,
but conspiring to sound like they're doing your will.
But still, they mock you without ill. To use your name to
sight being righteous, of their famous words to say,
"I'm doing God's will"

Mockingbirds, those beautiful creatures with feathers
as delicate as a whisper, find themselves trapped within
the confines of a cage, their melodic songs
silenced by the prison that surrounds them.

As they spin on the scale, their movements resemble
the graceful twirls of your hair, each strand reflecting the
music that dances in your soul. The sight leaves me awestruck,
my gaze fixated on the cracks in your eyes.
They tell tales of a life filled with both joy and sorrow, and
I can't help but be captivated by the depth within them.

But amidst this enchantment, I cannot help but feel
a pang of sadness for the little birdie that flew into a
deceptive net, its tiny body possibly breaking its delicate neck.
This mere accident, this twist of fate, has brought a sense
of loss and pain. In an attempt to make amends, to reclaim a
semblance of what was lost, I will venture back to the store.

I will seek out the mockingbird's freedom,
buying back its worth with the hopes of restoring
the balance that has been disrupted.

For in this act, I hope that I can bring a ray of light
to your world, honoring the beauty that lies within you
and the harmony that the mockingbirds sought to emulate.

May this small gesture of returning the caged bird symbolize
a larger journey towards reclaiming the freedom and worth
that was once taken away.

Mother earth, oh mother earth; may I cherish
these precious moments of such an outstanding woman
— in these delicate grains of sand slipping through an eye’s hourglass.
For all will pass by as quickly as the gentle whisper, but the love of a
mother is undying, in all its outspoken words in these countless days.

Even as time dances forward, I fervently hope
that through it all, my dearest mother, shall I always
remember your love, joy, and peace, withstanding the test
of these countless days.

Carelessly putting your smile on display, as the portrait
of constantly looking towards brighter days.
A mother’s radiant happiness, becomes the focal point,
brightening up even the darkest corners of these countless days.

For if I could express all the thankfulness, I have of you
each day, it would all be countless in these countless days.
Happy Mother’s Day.

And as a tongue lifts,
The words in between lips form:
As for a moment; do our lies last,
In endurance of our forever,
Do all truthful lips reside:

As I did taste a sense of deceit,
At a touch of lips when we kissed:

Perhaps this is why our love was but a moment.

Dancing in their shadows
The past, the future are both dark mirages
As the present is the light of day;
You see clearly and enjoy that moment
Our pasts are forgotten, the futures unknown,
All we have is now, all we have is just a moment

                                       ...More or less

Worthwhile moments printed in memory,
the good, bad and moderate at times,
all that we have now; is all that we can
cherish.

I'm blessed for knowing you all,
the known and strangers. I must have
heard and seen a thousand stories,
I've been blessed to be a part of them all,
even if it was by quick interaction.

Your moment was my moment,
we've made moments together,
a worthwhile experience; we're all
the moments waiting to happen.

Let's enjoy the moment.

Now who am I to tell you why,
that money you chasing you got your vision messed up in your eye.
Man, your greed is growing, chasing down the money, that makes it your only motive,
The money you chasing, got full amount of power like a **** locomotive.

Oh no look, now you're blind right in the eye,
Now you looking to us like we all got answers to your big why.
And you paid the young girl by the corner, to **** you up dry,
Now she's in the gutter with tears in eyes all about to cry.

But tell me why, who am I to tell you that, the money you're chasing is all but imported.
And who am I to tell you why, all those fake people you hang with love for you was just all but resorted.

Better pay those bills for all those expensive thrills,
Because sorry brother all that money does all the cheap kills.

So let me give you a word of advice young blood of mine, better proceed the money with much caution,
And **** it Me, stop rubbing the money in your skin like fancy smelling lotion.

_

The legacy of humanity hangs precariously
Upon their own blinded whims of fortune –
While faith is seasoned by the labour invested,
In the banquet of faith’s supplication.

Yet instead of harmonious voices, their frictional
Howls intertwine as a dog chasing after cars–
Those parked must seem a feast to the naïve,
Whose journey is dictated by the drive of others –

So simple-minded, solely to blend in with the crowd,
As indeed, wealth wields power - it challenges
Every muscle and very sentiment.

An investor buys an expensive watch to stay ahead of time. While the rest, will buy it to look like they have all the time in the world. We'll hold onto to the past, to appear we can hold time in our hand; wrapping your arm in the tune of your own success, both for the applauds of a band. Still if money does talk, there'll be a disconnect holding money to your ear. Trying to seem like you talk business, but in the efforts of a sold out career. The taste of a risk, is the blood your poured out of your wrist,— covering up those scars with a time piece. Still time never gives me any real peace, for a piece of thought, is me always wondering what time is.

Murderers killing the itch of time, scratching at the wait of doing something productive at every inch. The weight of robbers stealing time, will be carried away by the imaginary fortunes they think they have, just like the rich. I know you can't really scratch that painful itch by being rich, but it does help me afford the cream to soothe that feeling of a pinch. To not pinch a penny, over thinking how to save your self. When every penny for a thought, is thinking about how you can increase your wealth. As time is money; money only comes in due time, I might have as well bought an expensive watch, to keep watch on this money of mine.

...Still money will never be enough, as there will never be enough time.

'Life is but a dream,' I question the value of it;
at the edge of life, the edge of time, the edge of our reality;
at the edge of this cliff, we edge ourselves to a falling death.
But what if the fall to our death is like a dream—falling into
a hole, gaining speed close to it's undersurface? We'd wake
up before we hit the ground.

But would I wake up in a cold sweat; or in tears, of longing to
find what lies in the somber of a deep hole? Maybe my soul?
Haha; it's outline must of been shaped by the mind's many dreams,
my child. For what good was it; in the spirit ties of it being lost in the world?  A world at times that doesn't feel as real:
but just a life of a dream.

So by this edge, clutched by the winds of background; hold your
breath before you and I jump. Time may, or may not slow in the
plunge to the valley's undersurface. Still perhaps, this all could be
a dream, and we'll both wake up before we hit the bottom.

Surely it must be, because I don't know a reality to be as brave
to commit such an act. Why pinch yourself, when you've been
pinched by pillars of salt in life—sourness and bitterness?

Oh my inner child, life is but a dream:
and soon we'll both wake up from it.

In the darkest hour, I may rise at 3am,
Lost in a haze, sipping aimlessly,
Aiming another sip down my weary throat,
Yearning to silence a cough, to release my words,
As I ponder the creatures lurking in my mind's sea.

Within the depths of my thoughts, they swim,
Engaged in a fierce battle for breath,
Yet, I question why I label my courage a monster,
For it is I who has been the true beast all along.

I am the sun
in my eye,

seeing bright smiles
of beautiful people:

solar flair of hope,
wide spread in an instance:

a reflection of light,
from the great above;

                A moon child.

childish tears
spilled popcorn during the show
chasing light in the night

a tent without a roof,
for aerials to perform in the stars

but alas, the craze is blue—
of tides seduced by the moon

gaze through the depths of my eyes; do you perceive that these
thoughts are birthed from all that's televised – a smile that I carry,
merely just a show!

beyond the sight of the untrained eye lies unfulfilled desires,
for idleness thrives in the lap of plenty - resting my head on idle
thoughts!

dreams, once drove a heart; now they've driven right off the edge
of their thoughts. as the enigma of preserving a youthful body is
still a secret, slipping away eternally into the merciless grasp of
time.

                                        all pieces of myself eternally yearning
                                                               for just a little more time.

Cries of a wolf—howling in the
burns of a shadowy night. Preying eyes,
seeking, pouncing to hunt you out my dear.
Chasing love, or rather being chased by love
behind a trail of youthful winds. At the time
we still could count the scars on our knees.

Seems we've barely got skins holding solid
on our bones. Time is a she-wolf feasting on
once was youth. Her sharp tooth digs into my
eyes—gnawing my ability of sight.

I'm haunted by the long nights; seeming longer
if you're unsure you'd wake in the morning.
Death is a mistress of non screaming echoes,
but a peaceful whisper of her calling. She knocks
at the door of my cold feet; a deathbed unlike
no other rest to your eyes. (It's subtle goodbye)

But a longest night, makes expectancy of the day
brighter than it's tomorrow. But a few extra hours
is never what we'll borrow—still the hours of
wisdom we left behind is hoped to follow.
To let new things grow in the rises of one's
written experience, as the story of a Morn' flower.

May your eyes;
be bright towards the future,
Your past;
only but a memory in the shadows,

Your dreams;
as so bold to move mountains,
Your goals;
as precise as the targets you set,

Your hope's song;
as loud as many heavens roaring,
Your day's courage;
be the first step of chills to hell,

Your words;
the very worthwhile of the mind,
And your echo;
be the reflection of a heart's love,

As I bless all the eyes,
of this poetic piece.
And many more blessings,
upon all my fellow poets.

Eyes of a deep, earthy brown meet my gaze – a clash of syllables;
she embodies the essence of the soil.  Her foundation is unwavering,
and she is no one to indulge in the comforts of tepid waters;
she’s meant to ignite.

She leaves me in suspense, yearning – my nerves tremble in the
dawn’s embrace, her presence a jolt to fuel my spirit.

An ode to the morning brew.

I told them I was tired of being local, and they took me as a joker
But the punchline of that is I'm the only one with focus
You try to vouch for peers, but some people turn into vultures
I meant to say voucher, that you receipt after a purchase
As some people purchase purpose; ******* in the end coitus
Still it was a moment you had enjoyed that introitus

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

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

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

The only time they'd say I left my communicative ways of being local
And a yes to having their focus; get rich and buy yourself a lotus
Smoke some flowers, while deflowering flower's with a magnum opus
As that's the art of the world's composer, I try to keep my composure
Breathes in I'm just most certainly tired of being so local
Perhaps I'll die in the crowd to be considered folklore
But I remain local