Spirit of pleasant memory told me;
(to) keep writing
So
sweetly fell her words
to the crests of my shoulders
she lifted me with high breath...
"the world was waiting".

Selfishly I seek that soul of a day,
such that creation no longer tarries
save at least one precious moment,
sooner, than what was writ afore.

Sometimes the rain falls
as if its penning poetry
to the rhythm of its own music;
a sonic tune of liquid tapestry.

Cleft from a sky immersed
in the scene of a tragedy.
It's tears,
the pitter-patter;
a solemn dance
for all humanity.

An ancient jig this fluid frolic
never tiring of its endless cycle
vesting and revisiting this terra firma
like a lover emasculating the earth
of its desert state,
or adding to its oceans
in a bid to be free.

But you’re here again, I’ve noticed
for even through windows
your music plays a clamorous
and rather brazen beat.

Take my hand, why don’t you?

Come.

Dance with me.



**© Qwey.ku

I speak of love
when I compare you to
sweet summers day
or a rose of its garden

I speak of passage in the sea of time
when I say
forever or always
whichever tide ebbs first.

I speak of knowledge
when I say
the body of a young lady is heavenly
but a womans' decidedly divine

I speak of faith
when I say
nothing good
ever became
without an
inject of pain

I speak of fear
when I used to say
you'd be gone some day
but now I know,
love transcends the grave

© Qwey.ku

the turmoil of the universe
was carved of a canvass
of black so its stars would
shine ever brightly.

our celestial picture is heaven
astrologically saying;

"the darkness of your troubles
simply serves to luminate
the brilliance of beauty
in all your battles of victory...

for even death is undone
with the last flicker of breath
like falling stars leave
a glorious trail of descent"


**© Qwey.ku