The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

It's collapsing from beneath us
Tearing us apart
Faster than light further from the start
Have much fright for this dangerous barren land
My words may end up killing every popular band
Where will we go, what do we do, when do we see
What we are really here for, save it for the tree
Those who question will go beneath everything, (let me show, let me show, yeah, yeah, let me show)
Further than we go, further than we know
Beneath all the islands and all of the Russian snow
Beneath all the Middle Eastern sand far as it goes
Beneath the American badlands (here, let me show)
Canyons, rivers, oceans and sea
Believe me, it's nothing, my music is free
Take these unjust words and listen carefully
Yeah, it may sound like I teach geography
But trust me, I'm just saying you have to be aware
Of what's around you, it just isn't fair
We stare at a screen that tell us what to do
Tells us what to do, yeah, tells us what to do
We stare at a screen that tells us what to do
Tells us what to do, yeah, tells us what to do
We stare at a screen that tells us what to do
Tells us what to do, yeah , tells us what to do
It's collapsing from beneath us
Tearing us apart
Faster than light further from the start
Have much fright for this dangerous barren land
My words may end up killing every popular band
Where will we go, what do we do, when do we see
What we are really here for, save it for the tree
Those who question will go beneath everything, (let me show, let me show, yeah, yeah, let me show)
Further than we go, further than we know
Beneath all the islands and all of the Russian snow
Beneath all the Middle Eastern sand far as it goes
Beneath the American badlands (here, let me show)
Canyons, rivers, oceans and sea
Believe me, it's nothing, my music is free
Take these unjust words and listen carefully
Yeah, it may sound like I teach geography
But trust me you have to be aware
Of what's around you, it just isn't fair
We stare at a screen that tell us what to do
Tells us what to do, yeah, tells us what to do
We stare at a screen that tells us what to do
Tells us what to do, yeah, tells us what to do

The music was playing - softly
Standing on the balcony waiting for the fresh almond croissant
People are walking and riding their bikes in the old streets of Paris
A coffee shop and two old chairs outisde waiting for a reunion
I can hear her singing the lyrics and feeling the breeze
High
This moment was precious

Fair rose, now that thou art picked in the prime
Of thy breathtaking splendour to go bloom
By strands of pearl of very far a clime,
Upon roads of life I deserve no room
But as the wind bids adieu unto hills,
The lonely woods, the indignant still cloud,
The silent vales, the gently rolling rills,
As such, I must vade to another world;
But hark! Fair star, though snowy angels fair
In countless numbers bedeck heaven's shore,
Eternal flames of brightest love so rare
By my soul shalt blaze for thee evermore.
  So, until then when we shall meet again,
  My love for thee as fresh as summer rain.

© Kikodinho Edward Alexandros, Kampala, Uganda. 13th.July.2018.


#attempt at a Shakespearean sonnet
#decasyllabic
#iambic pentameter

When a poet falls in love with you,
He turns dates into historical events,
From the way you looked ,
To the way you laughed ,
To the way you spoke,
To the way you loved ,
Everything gets moulded with gold ,
In the chapters of this funny place,  called life.
Those words become the beginnings of new destinations for some lovers ,
But for some it's the demise.
When a poet falls in love with you,
He gives the ocean over to you,
No matter if you are a pond or a tiny drop.
When a poet falls in love with you ,
You are no more made of flesh ,
No , you are made up of gold ,
With every inch perfect in its own way .
When a poet falls in love with you,
No matter what color he is ,
He will always describe you as the spectrum ,
Carrying every shade he could ever imagine .
When a poet falls in love with you ,
His words can taste like the dish you have been craving for weeks,
When a poet falls in love with you ,
He notices all the scars ,
And describes them like the map to his destination.
When a poet falls in love with you ,
He writes all his poems for you ,
Only to abandon them all after a while
Like this one....

Our love is a bad scene
of a movie,
passive lines, unsavory
characters
and this gaudy
bedroom lighting
wreck any idea
of realistic drama
and if the audience applauds
when the credits roll
only you
can take the blame.