To him,
she's the calm in the blustering of his mother,
a goddess against the devilish charms of the libertine father,
a dry land away from the wettest inequities of coitus,
a blue violet in the skies of her affection—love and compassion
grows of her red lotus,
far apart from peers; they shunned her from their groupings,
a series of events makes her love home; so unlike, amongst
many few, to seem fictional as movies.

A queen; diamonded on the silk of her skin,
maturity read in her eyes, and red as her passionate lips,
fetching to behold—spirit, looks, and within.
"He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor
from the Lord" (Prov 18:22 NIV)

And on the stages of many eyes,
I yield myself not to perform,
Given an unscripted act of life,
It all seems unpredictable of our roles,
For the lyrics of song to your being,
Are only written words,
                             God's mouth formed.

My thoughts stagger, trying to carry hopes heavy as heartbeats.
Two lovers, chest to chest, whispering, “let’s talk soul to soul,”
trying to make sense of a love story that hasn’t been written yet
—a heart-to-heart moment, I keep dreaming of.

I tell myself: stay focused. But I’ve been tiptoeing through
daydreams, because chasing love too fast leaves you breathless
when it runs the other way. Cos everyone wants the highs of love,
but no one talks about the problems on the down low — the quiet
exits, the silent tears, the way loneliness can sneak in even when
someone’s lying right beside you.

Maybe it’s a late-night phone call — a sleepy “goodnight, baby”
before the line cuts out. Or a “good morning” text just to fold into
my memory like a note tucked beneath my pillow. Maybe it’s
wanting to tell you everything — not just the good, but the messy
middle parts too. Like you’re both my friend and my fire. Like you’re
the one who fits the empty spaces between the soft notes of this wild
birdsong my thoughts keep singing.

I want that kind of love. But I know relationships get complicated.
And honestly, I don’t miss perfect — I miss partnership. I miss
the “we got this” when life gets heavy, the “I’m here,” even when
we don’t have the answers. It’s not a complicated thing — just
someone to solve life with me. To laugh when things crack. To stay
when the flaws start showing.

I want skin I can breathe in — not just touch. Someone who sees
my silence as depth, not distance. Who holds my flaws like fragile
truths, not defects to be fixed.

But maybe that’s too much to ask. Maybe that kind of love only exists
somewhere between sleep and memory. I’m awake now — and I
don’t want to fall too deep just to find the woman of my dreams.

Tomorrow comes too soon — I am the taste of noon,
a mirror reflecting another's brilliance; I am just a moon.

In
A world that seeks to mould me into a mere tool, yet my
truest desire is to be a spoon, nourishing those who crave
love; those ensnared in a wicked life of their own doom
Still, all I aspire to achieve feels so insufficient,

For
Tomorrow comes too soon — I am the inquisitive shadow
lingering in a room. I've been transformed into a broom,
sweeping away many of my ideas— for all the countless
moments they appear in their eyes as something never close
to good

As
All the creativity I possess comes with the weight of having
so much to prove; I've stumbled many times, leaving me to
question the true fit of my shoes. Life wears me down by
day’s end, and the cycle begins anew.

Always
Tomorrow comes too soon.

Let’s strum a song on the acoustic kiss of your lips,  
and I’ll feign mastery of every chord; yet when it comes
to the lyrics, I find myself adrift, missing most of the words.  
Let’s chance the spark of romance, with our hearts poised,  
eager to sway in a dance.  

As your tears start to hit the floor,
pouring your essence into my embrace—I feel love’s warmth  
seeping from your very pores. Yet, you remain unfazed,  
to not bat an eye- swinging at my heart with the allure
of our candid exchanges, swinging wide like church doors.  

From a bell that resonates above my thoughts, the sound
of your name echoes in my mind— a melody played with
the ease of a Sunday morning, harmonies wrapped in sacred notes.
We are the embodiment of the perfect love songs we’ve shared,
living each moment as Tomorrow’s notes.

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.

skies are black—heavy;
a grey smile, fields of yesterday's tears
cries of drought and doubt of progression
not to mention we rely on nature for resources
but are unresourceful to treat our Mother back
in kind

she's dying, dying, dying
ice glaciers melting, forest trees drying
human nature is to show love, compassion and
respect to whom is their mother

show love, compassion and respect to whom is
your Mother earth

Like the tip of a pen-
So be the tip of your tongue.
It's words either bring joy, love; encouragement; passion or wisdom;
Or
only becomes scribbles on paper that adds nothing of value to one's life.

What then does your pen speak of you?

Aim for my heart, calling Heaven above; an angel has
left me to tears, down on my knees- racing across a
bridge reaching out to my heart. My eyes have been thrown
into a sea, deep down until I drown, in the depth
of her passion- it’s her world in my eyes I see

As she touched the most sensitive part of me, this nuptial
union; we are only human, seeking to multiple- there’s
always that desire of creation in both our eyes. We’re now
together— alone at last; to reproduce our life’s kind,
and putting ease to restless minds

Her kiss of oxygen turns into flames- I turn off the lights,
and still see her body glow; skins smooth as silk- free
from these robes, to a sight of her that soothes my tongue
And with a coy smile, we’ll rekindle the fire of our body’s
fireplace once again, tonight

Ghost in the shadows, killing thoughts had in the dark,
What luck to have been so close to an edge,
pulled away from the cliff, close to being cut off,
But my scaled skin just broke off the tip. Given a
second chance to live.

Sort of took a chance to breathe, took all that’s in,
And letting out desire; seems my old inner demons
are quick to come together and conspire,
Darling I’m only a liar, I could never count all
of the daily lies in pen, and catchy rhymes.

But just wait for tonight.

Tonight we’re going to be caught up in a lie,
laying sheets of paper on a wooden bed,
Drawing closer to an embrace, with my imprint
on your skin.

Oh where to begin?


Is it sweet lips, cherry bites, and still wild,
scented candles, and perfumed necks,
Smelling of youthful passions, and exuberance,
I’m dying fighting this flesh.

Chestful of voices, holding breaths, holding
embraces, and swimming pools, swimming
breast stroke. I’m smothered by your pillows.

In the centre line to the belly of tickles, all the
sensitive areas for both of us.
Of course the senses are only too much, if my
tenderness of kisses are a bit too fast.

Setting sun, and a sinking moon,
in between an ocean with it’s two peaks,
I had my glimpse under a dress,
address me as a favourite flavour, slowly as you
undress.

The duration of warming up long legs,
pressing down buttons, pressing knees,
Pressing feet, pressing emotions, pressing
concerns, I’m pressed to solve them with a
bust of a gun.

Won’t our tonight be so fun?

Can’t be everyone’s hero—
but it’s so easy to be framed as the villain in someone’s story,
caught in the blur between goodwill and what they believe is ill will,
the wheel spinning from “helpful” to “harmful” without warning.
The sickened influencer—tired of carrying hearts like glass—
now catching cold thoughts, like a mind with influenza,
and I’m wondering: do I get any better at doing the most,
or do I just give less of a **** as the walls I build
crumble beneath the weight of everything I try to hold back?
Does any of it matter, really—at all?

Not everyone will love you like a lover in the honeymoon season—
the moon only glows for a night, and even the sweetest honey dries
when left open too long. And what you think might bring us closer
can become the very thing we learn to hate together.
But maybe in the court of opinion, I’ve become too quick
to cast judgment—forgetting that my sense-of-self
sometimes acts selfish too.

But I’m not standing tall above anyone—I’ve got my own
shortcomings, and none of them come in small doses.
I sin too. Like you, I can act so human, too human, too often.

A voice levy—to impose a fee on speaking freely.
My breath is so heavy, as my bones take on another
burden. Searching in the confines of a world not letting
me be.

A Christian that has been castrated; as you'd assume
I never had the testies to speak my father's truths.
The world has test me plenty times as a youth, before
my ***** even dropped. This part may penetrate some
sensitive hearts, so let me stop.

Perhaps you'd call me being too religious.
My religion isn't based on a bound by monastic vows.
Tis of relationship I have with my God. Filled with His
holy spirit, after being saved by His son's loving grace.
But alas you'd still call me being too religious either way.

But that's okay—I'll turn the other cheek.
Do it as many times as like in rinse and repeat. I can follow
those lessons of the Bible, but please don't hit me with,
"well aren't you a Christian," when I'm at my lowest.
I'm a Christian, but human too. I'm also going through it too.
Do I still seem being too religious to you?

Perhaps I'm being too religious to speak any real truth.
You'd call me selfish, if I said I don't speak truth for
me or you. I speak truth for my creator, but saying that
would create tension. When I speak of repentance to a sinner,
a part of me expects aggression. But I see that you're empty,
and hope to lead you into being filled by the Lord. But I'd seem
to full of myself, and a fool to try and save a sinner. At fault for
being a Christian, as you'd love to say, being too religious.

I guess I'll always be too religious.

Young are fools,
Young is love with it’s gazing wet eyes,
Young is time,— of it you still have,
Young are dreams,
Young are fears,
Young are the first worries life burdens us with,
Young are we all,—only for a time.

You are never too young of all to do,
But old in the spirits of picking whichever's when,
To start off young, and end off old.
Though life is as short,— it feels too young nowadays.

~All is too young.~

I know it hurts to be alive
At times you think of suicide
But here's my encourage to encore your life

Be happy of the fact you pushed on to survive
And please mind the appearance,
But I do care of the mental state of your mind

You're battling things inside
Battered from showing it outside
As with a cheery hie; behind a smile is a lot to hide
I just want you to know—in appearances not seen,
I appreciate your life

The market crashed in my eyes – I can't afford buying a love that’s
blind. But maybe I’m a fool; and do fools in love, eventually wise
up without having to break apart? A mirage on my lips, making it an
illusion when I sometimes express how I really feel. Love’s decisions
so deep in your eyes; can be varying, but also along the lines of being
beautifully deceiving.

While waiting patiently under the moss; lacking the true roots to dig
deeper for the nourishment of love – oversaturated; growing in damp
habitats, and still trying to pretend being grass. To pretend love…
is it not a sin?

Some look for comfort in skin, other’s skin is the momentary comfort
to a nightly lover. When you hide yourself under their covers, do you
not know that we still see the shape of your shame – two bodies that
shake when they're in trouble.

I pray as a witness, that those who are in love, fully bare the weight
of love – the good, the bad, and hidden ugly. But more importantly,
that they bare the weight together; looking out for each other.

Memos to a poet's unheard speech
Could sound like a preach
Great ideas of course to promote peace
Listen intently; there's reason to pain
Expressive lyrics of love, then also shame
All is fair game in wordplay—wouldn't you know
a peaceful night after a chaotic day

Their song is unsung, written in chorus blue
A writer who is broken; fixation on their expression
                                  ....the writer you never knew

The phone rings—reluctant
to the answer of destiny
So tis the message from God
  'you've disconnected lately'

All your friends haven fallen
in love—you've fallen out of it
Longing of a touching embrace
              'you seem so touched'

As you have tears, but cannot
cry openly, it tears your apart
Being closed in a ballads verse
          'you dance in your pain'

A thousand steps in the mile
tis a small distance to smile
If you're willing to travel afar
         'life is always a journey'

She's a **** fox, only to eyes
as a foxtrot—love's smooth,
And lovely progressive dance
     'no steps to falling in love'

I'm overjoyed to knowing nothing
as everything is still to be learnt
Mysteries bound to be of a rectify
        'may God fill your creativity'

Energy & effort,
what you put in is what you'll get.
Therefore,
give it your all,
And get back a hundred percent.

Constituency & patience,
stay the course, wait for the reward.
As God has given us,
blessings always wait for us in store.

Breathing & living,
precious is every breath. We're still alive.
We spend our life proceeding,
to achieve success on the other side.

We spend energy and effort,
having constituency and patience.
While we're still breathing and living,
to every second we have, we shouldn't waste it.
The end is always nearing.

Touch*

Some good feelings don't seem too right,
But is it bad to say I want you for tonight.

It was just a touch,
Felt it through a rush.
Breaking me down in my body's desire of this particular crush.

Burning desire for warmth between hidden lips.
Holding gently to pull you closer by your hips.
Gulping down on your love in the couple of sips,
Yet not paying for any of it, for you refuse to take any of my tips.

But it's not *** by simple details,
When you don't throw yourself across all the world's females.

For when I first felt the touch,
One piece of it was never enough.
Take it to place of comfort, perhaps a couch,
Taking control of the machine within me by it's oily clutch.

Simply came from a touch,
To control this crave is all but too much.

I've been touched by....
the morning symphony orchestra of birds,
rain tickles dancing on asbestos roofing,
calm winds; of one gentle breeze plunging mangoes,
brown leaves rustling away for new to follow,
the sounds of life in the cheers of children's play,
oh—touching experiences of a beautiful day.

So as I speak...
I say to you—not to bite words of expression,
let the voice of life in your lungs be lively,
out a loud in the quieting despairs of often,
to the ears open to the sounds of hope acclaimed,
teach the young, and so too teach the old of extra portion,
the spirit of worth within us, echoes out in action,
letting those words you speak be in the physical,
in conscious, guided by Spirit—becomes lyrical.

                                And all in all, do it all with love.

Does a thick woman ever feel her patience wearing thin, while
her man wears a beard, ready to take her every mood by the chin?
He’s dating a girl named Erin, who hates it when he cuts his hair,
and runs errands. She made him ink a tattoo on his neck, declaring,
“property of Erin’s,” then she decided to shave her head, but she's
now wearing a wig— a real bold choice. While her man is plagued
by countless voices, but he himself, doesn’t have much of a voice.

She swiftly cleans up her act for the public eye – she's a minute maid,
with a juicy figure that could turn any man to pulp; and she’s also
self-made. And he’s like an empire of ants, bearing more than his
own weight. But he’s not much of a saint, his mischief thrives when
she’s far away, and it can never wait. He keeps a side piece as a
thought to chew on, always clearing off his plate.

They picture a relationship, but lack the means to truly relate –
just a ship; claiming they’re on the same boat; being each other’s
bait. “Plenty of fish in the sea,” but they leave hooks in one another,
after they hook up. Never pausing to Google for their worth; it’s right
there, just look up– to the writing on the wall. "We’re all crumbling
on each other"; if these walls could speak. As countless feet trample
on each other’s toes, in these crowded streets of Love, we seek.

Paved in toxicity – a toxic city, where toxic lovers inhale toxic fumes.
Easily fuming when being called out; the headlines of these daily
romances, all spell bad news.

If I wrote down a thousand letters,  details of the words I pour out to you,
Slowly taking up my time as often as I see the sky, as I see it's blue.
Telling you what we could be, where we going as I look at where we are.
Just look closely darling at my heart you hold, though cut but misfortunes of other past loves and crushes, please mind this scar.


Sitting under the shade of a tree to escape the blazing heat that wears me down,
Often my mind escapes to you to find that bit of comfort, smiles on this very face. O'my where's that once ugly look I had from my frown.
Though I can't say you chased away all my fears, but rather gave me the strength to conquer them on my own,
And I would put extra credit on my pocket device to reach closer to you as I call you to hear your sweet voice on the very phone.

But surely I would write you these thousand of letters for the days I never really see you in the flesh.
To write with the very ink of my heart to paint what my words can't say to you and make my mind feel afresh.
Till the words I would write would be no more,
Till I eventually run out of things to say. Father, Father give me more strength before I hit the floor.

Darling I may think of myself to be little, but together You and I are surely bigger,
The world trys to pull us apart with long distance but I'll still wait for you and I shall not give to the death of losing you to the hand to the trigger.

My love, this shall be us in the future, when we're so close that we can never be apart,
If it means me running in front to prepare everything for us all the future, let the Lord give me a head start.

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.

funeral tears
black curtains over eyes
darkness consumes the lonely night
under the lunar eclipse of a lunatic
the craze of loneliness, despair,
unpleasant dreams—fears of an uncalled
bloodline bleeding the pain of lost love
fixating eyes, on the sights to starve
flashing desires; and a blink of time
time is short, as are these words

...in all, I'll always be this tragic poem

Valleys turn into hills, hills into mountains
Life into time, time into sands we from,
drifting oceans of waves—waters of before,
clouds at first.

Crush into love, first kiss into memories,
memories become experience.
Experiences into story—stories into legend,
and those new legends to be born.

Loneliness into depression, expression out
of hurt. Hurt into echoing words, words immortal.

Must life be like the butterfly;
birth, caterpillar that grows,
cocoon~ hidden in the dark.
And of course the beauty at the end.

                                Life is transformation

The skies hung heavy and black,
casting a somber mood over the world below.
It was as if the heavens themselves were
burdened with the weight of yesterday's sorrows.
The fields, once vibrant and alive, now wore a grey smile,
a reflection of the tears shed in days gone by.

As night fell, the symphony of crickets filled the air,
their chorus echoing through the stillness.
It was a quiet night, interrupted only by the
gentle handover of the sun to the moon.
The air carried a pleasant scent of dew, a reminder
of the rest that awaited all living things.
And amidst it all, the tiny footsteps of rain danced
upon the asbestos roofing, a thief of nature sneaking
into the sounds of peace.

In the midst of this atmospheric symphony,
a wooden kitchen door ticked with the passage of time.
It creaked open and closed, its rusted iron hinges
adding to the melody.
The door seemed hinged in thought,
attached by fears and darkness.
It formed a latch, and night became its key,
locking away the light and welcoming the shadows.

As I stood there, my feet grew cold,
chilled by the ice-like glass of my fragile character.
A towel hung limply from the handle of the cupboard,
a silent witness to my dry mouth and the skeletons
of my past that haunted me, beyond my control.

But amidst the darkness, comfort found
its way to my side, persistently offering solace.
It was a visitor, never truly staying,
but always there when I needed it.
In my mind, I set up a spare room,
a sanctuary for fleeting moments of respite.
And in those rare moments, a sparing thought
would gently grace my mind, offering a glimmer of hope.

Yet, even in the midst of this fragile peace,
a shadow lurked behind me.
She knew my name, intimately aware of
the battles I fought within myself.
The empty room, once a sanctuary, grew heavy
with the weight of my inner demons.
Like a fallen angel, I descended into the depths
of my own despair, the falling rain mirroring
the tears that stained my soul.
And in a whisper, a secret was revealed in my ear:
depression, depression, depression.

And so, my depressing thoughts found me once again,
enveloping me in their suffocating embrace.
The world around me faded into the background
as I became lost in the labyrinth of my own mind.

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

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

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

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

Mountains don't talk,
only do they hear.
Listen to falling trees making a sound,
this is like my last moment,
Before my dead wood is found.

What's the amount of life,
adding to the idea only subtracts the cause.
Divided by the voices blowing in my head,
much like wind blowing across you O'tree.
Not so cheap to be alive,
for nothing in life comes for free.

Our cruel world shares no love for any few,
the very few of you are helpless.
Why do we all suffer,
we are so many.
Doing so much in this cruel world,
living in the stories of our upbringing,
Stories we never told.

O'tree,
you and I are much like.
In a world comparing us both,
we're so much a like, living in a world comparing wealth by it's size.

Let's stand,
tell our stories right here on this stand.
They may never understand,
how our offspring are destined to grow great.
Seedlings of little wealth,
born to reach the skies, a touch away from the blue.

We grow in this world,
moving so fast,
nothing in the moment seems to last.
How do we make it to any future
when we fail to remember our past.
Wealth sees fortune,
but fortune won't forever last.
What drys out is only nature,
all that falls, drys away like leaves on the grass.

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.

Of the most, many drink a life away in hopes of finding yourself at the bottom of the cup
To living life in a Man's straight manner but the mind is trailing upside down and left out in the dump.

Taking pills and potions to **** empty pains
Alas, I'm left with messy sheets to sleep with on a bed with all my ***** stains.

Lord Almighty, hoping he don't take me out too soon
Crying in the arms of my own self. Feelings felt like a fictional character of the children's cartoon.

Praying to you that you stay, that my heart wouldn't be lost to I in the troubles of a sometimes lost world.
Gripping on the rusty keys of my heart. Often sicken by a constant sin of my regrets to unfold.
Jesus knows of how my sins he bore on the dead ****** tree could hold so much weight
Often if given the chance I would quickly rely on this world's Grace.

But that could never be enough. For this world's desires couldn't hold you for long in the comfort of loving arms,
But rather play with your mind and   body quickly by the strums and noisey drums.

Still tried to disconnect from people and all care
But the places I would end up to be I would find nothing out there.

Now at such a place I found myself to be,
then for an empty man like I had to search in the deeps of himself to find of what would make him free.
To then humble yourself by your wordy lip
Ending up in a fight wrestling with God. Having a bone pop straight out from the hip.

But I had to come to place where I made a switch up from eating too much of the dirt the world would feed.
To dig deep enough in a once cold heart to plant a new seed.

Now such a seed would grow deeper by the roots of a Tree to my Heart
And no man of this world would dare to think they have the sharpest tool to cut such a Tree apart.

So as I water the tree of my heart to the hopes of it growing tall and well,
Watch of the fruits of my labours for the many stories of my own children to tell.

This to the Tree of my Heart...

We are merely shards of glass nestled in the branches—
delicate leaves that, when they tumble to the earth,
shatter our very essence.

In my gaze, you appear so fragmented, like a
reflection staring back at another reflection—
between the two, who is truly more lost in the haze?

Introduction : Bar scene

In the bar scene trying to fit with the crowd.
Pouring thoughts as the bartender pours the rounds.
  Music in here too **** loud.

All pretty girls in here look good for the night.
"Take you home baby, just to wipe the lies off your face. Let that beauty fall out of sight".

In here for the fun. Bartender pour another shot.
Take it to the head till I'm numb. Whatever it takes to get there, don't mind the cost.

A troubling heart if you searching inside this chest.
Looking for closure in a lonely drink. My soul never at rest.

Flip through the pages to understand of my story.
Of the pain I felt from childhood, to now using a drink to cry such pain.
Lost of my own identity, not recognizable by very own name.

I'm the troubling heart trying to fit in.

Chapter 1 : Leaving Home

Childhood memories. Mother lost of her lover to the war.
Hearing of Father's death over the phone.
Cut through me just like his rusty old saw.

School days, skipping through all my classes.
Teachers tried to pity me long. Till they too kicked me out for beating up the masses.

Mother had no time to deal with my troubles. Best friend the bottle.
Wishing for father's old motorcycle to work, just to leave this city on full throttle.

With all the residents looking at me with a dull eye when I frown.
With everything I once had in place now upside down.

Whole world laughing at you. Could I be it's clown?

Best be leaving this city.
To many days of better memories all dried out. Nothing really left for me.

Feels kinda empty.

Board the late night train with my cash of few.
Hoping in the distance days and cities I could find something new.

With nothing of much left, barely enough in my hand.
Washed up in my own tears like the ocean's sand.

Leaving this place tonight.
Be gone by the wind and the Day's breath.
Hoping well of something out there to be of my strength.

Chapter 2: Welcome

Lady on the train stares me down. Has a lot to say.
Looking at her face, she's the spiritual type. Not in the mood to deal with this today.

Sits next to me without a word. Greets me with a tap.
Tells of how she sees the trouble in my eyes, throws a Bible on my lap.

"He'll guide you, never forget that my boy,
Let He be your Strength and Joy"

Took her Bible just to be polite.
Doubt I'll peep through any page.
Thinking of her trying to know of my life as she's a sage.

Nearing the end of the train ride to my next destination.
In a city where strangers are easily spat out. Hoping well to be the exception.

I'll keep the Bible just to ease her Heart.
But she'd best not expect me to follow her "HE", for I don't know where to start.

"Welcome to the city of dreams", the sign boldly claims.
"With the big highlights and bigger names".

Well here I go to make my own name.

Today was a beautiful day than yesterday
Everyday all just days of a living testimony
And all our troubles will pass me by because tomorrow is another day
Why look at all the things that may bring us down
When there is so much that is all a hope in us giving us a smile from that awful frown

I care for not of all the bad things that make my days to be
Only memories in my mind all passing by
Not holding me back because in my heart I am free
So let me live this life as my God made it to be
All my troubles will be just  passing by
A living testimony for all to see

Could I be living out a silly dream stuck in my head
I think not because I've been awake all my days to know it is not a dream .This to me is the butter to my bread

So my troubles are all passing by
I don't let them stay here for this isn't their place
And there is no need for my mind to ask itself why
Because I live my life as my God made it to be
Only he knows the way I should take but of course he created me.

How be the zeal of my will,
for man does fall short
Such is man, imperfect as He,
still He of perfect Love loves the imperfect.

My flesh loves crying for desires,
I know I shouldn't follow.
I'm weak, beneath flesh and bone,
as the Spirit is the only. Stronger!
Underneath this earthly vessel.

But the Spirit is in a
constant hunger
As flesh does hunger for flesh,
a Spirit hungers meditation of The Word.

The heart though being
evil at times, still has Love to give
Though the mind often thinks
the unholy, there are still some good lessons for it to teach.

Though a hand is accustomed
to harm
The other holds aid.
Despite the feet's missteps
they aren't misplaced in your ways.

So like the compass,
guiding a ship in chaotic sea
Be as my True North and guide me.

Puzzled— are all of the pieces falling away,
or falling quietly into place: these are assumptions from
the course of nothing, hoping to become something-
As for something for the time, I’ve come to ask whether
the feeling of nothing isn’t a feeling of things not fitting
well into their place

The picture feels like a maze labyrinth of emotions,
written so well out in braille- as that’s all I can honestly
feel right now

As the laid grail, comes from a sore back with *******
sacrifices- through the chambers of night; that which scares
me the most, is the constant nights where I’m trying to put
the puzzle pieces together of my life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I caught myself dreaming of places I’ve
never been to and seen before,
Breaking, decaying, crying my eyes out till
they’ve flooded the floor.

I’ve been flying; without the wings of
any of the angels or the birds,
Living with strangers; so unfamiliar inside of
this very small world.
Repairing these many things that never broke;
putting back the many tiny pieces of my soul.

Wondering where next to go.

Screaming, “keep your long breaks”
you can’t break into my heart.
Ease your pace into falling in love;
and my love test your brakes.

But I’m smiling in the dark,
hope you see my bright smile;
I stole from a thousand stars.
I drew a constellation in the skies;  
just to remind us who we truly are.

People!

Or have you forgotten, four gots; still
you’re counting them all,
Why are you so afraid to open up,
instead of letting people peep through the door?

Complaining about a little, but you could never
afford, or handle any more!
Waiting at corner shops; when there’s so much
in store.

Myself is the longest fight,
the battle never ends while you’re still alive.
But wouldn’t it put the enemy off, if you came
to the battle with a smile?

I can’t say it wouldn’t work, but it’s worth a-

Try!

Trying to make a boy into a man,
trying to love better than a crazy fan.
Trying to figure out all my ideas to make a plan,
just trying to be a man.

Needing a little space apart from my mind to at least breathe,
trying to pick out all the want in my life to know what I need.
Just giving out all of my love for someone better to receive.

Wishing I had a better place to call my own,
not being with all my friends and feeling so alone.
Searching deep inside myself for depth in my soul,

Trying to keep an eye on my goals and on the ball.
Just trying not to fall.

Cause I've hit the ground hard enough that I feel absolutely nothing.
A ****** nose would remind me that we all feel something.
But if I'm somehow heading in the wrong direction, could you please stop me.

Cause I'm lurking through my shadows, trying to find some light,
But Sun is going down and going out of sight.

But I'm still out here in the night desperately trying,
my mouth is shut, so I could be lying.
Cause liveliness is feeling closely to dying.

But I'm still trying.

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

It's a real struggle for me
To be near you, and truly be myself –
Sometimes I feel like I'm either breaking free
from my shell or retreating back into myself

Yet, one thing is clear:
I'm like a timid pet turtle, gradually falling
in love with you – not knowing what to do with itself.

Twas Sweet of sweet losing it's touch of love,
a synic course of nature forcing hungry more to starve.

Twas man who fell bringing down the world with him,
and being that it was planned, no other man would have dream.

Twas age who neitherless took the time to wait,
for Death who preyed upon the old and weak to put our lives at stake.

Heed to such words, and what tales the tell.
Ringing to your ears like an old church Bell.

For twas jealousy that man cast a stone to ****,
And his sin had only a price for another death to pay the bill.

Twas to be a son a sacrifice to prove his love,
And the new life was only through his Blood.

Twas a dying Tree that he died upon,
nailed on it till his life was gone.
And had left this world before the rise of Dawn.

But the lion could not be slain,
and by Jesus name, his rise was now that came.

Twas when the Earth had shook,
the Heaven's had cried.
For it was Truth,
the Risen King had no longer died.


Twas when man looked to the sky,
the skies begun to shine.
For the man once had him to deny,
But now was the time.

For the fallen Son had risen.
All sins were forgiven.

For he was risen,
the man of flesh,
For twas it Jesus.
Twas he who was risen.

I shouldn't show how heavy I cry,
biting my lip, to swallow spit.
The fourth shouting,
accidentally changing into fifth,
at the time my father was teaching
me how to drive.

So like a dog on a street,
with puppy eyes for those misfortunate.
A young man close to my age,
begging me for the little of my wage.
I guess I'm an open hand to all the
people I feed. But I closed my fist on
this memory of a brother calling me a b...

When I was told I don't know how
to really hustle, Wasting my
time on writing; a couple puns just to
make myself chuckle.

A lot of those I love, much
love to diss, to a point of all my faults.
I put it all together saying,
       "I'm so sorry to disappoint"
At my age I should have moved out of
my parents house.

As I have/had this dream,
that only a few see and believe;
I've been working on it with every hustle
and every kind of scheme,
to impress you, and give you a grin,
As I can't smell your best intentions,
through the hustling giving me a nose bleed.

Everything feels so grim,
but even in graveyard shifts,
I try to reap what I sow.
But not everything you put out has
something for it to show. Not every
wish you bury has a chance to grow.

Twenty-two years,
wondering what I can show to peers.
I know they'll cheer my successes,
but never acknowledge the tears.

So I'll just pen down my tears,
of all twenty-two years.

There's a love that resembles a foolish quest,
her thoughts constantly occupying my mind.
I'm breathless, yearning for passionate kisses,
wearing love's badges proudly on my chest.

I never fought for love, but fought to be adored,
and the sound of their lips reveals wickedness soon.
As fears and great expectations intertwine,
the walls crumble in this butterfly-filled belly,
an anticipation that surpasses all others.

And it's the curse of desire that keeps me trapped,
a twisting sensation when she's not by my side.

Impatient fear— drawn like breath toward a love-sickness
too familiar; where even longing feels rehearsed.
Still, we wait. Too patient, perhaps, for the One who
might finally make us two.

But how many hearts have crowded this same dream?
How many lips have whispered their forever's into ears already
echoing with empty promises? Love, the great alien—always
arriving in disguise during first encounters, glimmering strange
and radiant, only to rot sweetly in the mouth after the kiss turns
to memory.

We taste the ache, to call it devotion...
We call the wound a lesson.

But what of those—the occasional monsters; who no longer
apologize for the shape of their hunger, who wear their
shadows like a second skin, not in shame, but in acceptance?
And what of the world, when two such creatures find each other?
When neither runs, neither flinches—when their broken pieces
match like puzzle scars?

Do we call it love then, or chaos? Do we fear what is born from
the ashes of their embrace— or envy it? Because when two
monsters fall in love, they do not tame each other. They make
a home of their fire. And the world, remains forever obsessed
with perfect edges, that it will never understand—how beautiful
the burn can be.

Only then, do you and I finally feel free.

Now your eyes,
are pretty as the ocean, and crying whenever
it makes you feel blue. A sad tragedy, something I
myself can be too.

Uttering no words,
but all to trying to speak our very hearts.
And what does it say; what all does it bare?
The hurts of passion; so bitter sweet of pain,
all with your heart in hand. All the emotions you
hold onto, dare I say: 'you hold onto a tragic past love?'

It was painted with faith;
but not of the colours it wants be,
It was painted with love;
but as for now, how much of it can I see?
All of the eyes stories I've seen, but of their mouths
that won't tell. Casting charms of luck; but the words
to their love they even can't spell.

The enchantment all of one's former delights,
no otherwise from others in your life. I've warned you
not to trick my heart. I don't do well with any kind of magic.
But oh how I'm in love with being so tragic.

Tragically in love with you.
The tragedy of us both being so tragic in our past loves.
We're the tragedy to love.

when the sunlight stays in that
bright smile of yours; i hope for it's day not
to end,
like tears in the ocean; your beautiful
crying also gives me your
blue.

you're as beautiful as those two things...

A message typo,
angle, instead of angel
Intrusive thoughts, intrusive thoughts
saying, "I love to see you from the side,
for all of your curves"

Damage or repair,
so often tyred of life.
It's constant wear and tear,
going round in circles of fear.
But that's life for us all, so **** wheel.

Our purest laughs are in our dreams —
Laughing lungs out, sounding a bit psychotic;
Who's there to judge how ugly they really sound?