Even if for a decade that high rich man
Did not his business plough again
By leaving his many a big furrow
Of investments away to fallow;
He shall never in this life have
Any lack and want, nor shall crave
And beg he for ordinary food and meat
That his everyday portion he can duly meet,
Seeing by the almighty virtue of
His billions--a more than enough
Substance that has been tucked away for
Many years to come--succour
Of the soul there is for his family
And him: from poverty they're free.





Howbeit this other low indigent fellow,
Who does his cherished trade follow
iIn detail and with diligence daily--
Praying for favour divine early--
Is still like pigs wallowing in penury,
And having no house nor a Miss to marry.
Though he's a plumber that slumbers nay; thanks
Not at all to bad economy that betimes ranks
And puts him amongst the honourable poor,
Who're seeking noble relief from door to door,
Living an inclement life devoid of comforts.
Though working as a ******; yet his efforts
And daily striving are all but a waste,
An one that reckons as no pleasant taste.

The shards of glass
    seem to be all I see
on the floor.

             I smashed the mirror
      very ****** with my fist,
             but what for?

I'll pick up each piece
     and try not to cry
as I explain.

          My mind exploded
     looking fast into the past
          revealing my pain.

I've lied, stolen,
     cursed, but the worse
was the repetition

       My mind was
healed from the concealed
   acts of reminiscing.


The past two years
     have sped as I fled
from my youth.

                     Now I'm here
                confused and amused
                         at the truth...

It's been a hard time
     coping while hoping
to be at peace.

                     I plan to go
                        far away one day
                            after the last piece.

Snuggled we as chicks by each other,
Frame bare later mounted frame ****,
Drawing love by intertwinning together
Our hoods to be in an ecstatic mood--
This exhaled breath scented like jasmine,
That inhaled it as his oxygen divine;--
And she bade me with the luscious stream
Of her curvaceous and succulent body
To be swimming gently along with its rhythm,
As we two our passion into one entity
Rolled. Anon our cold gave way to heat--
Sweating: now staring for the other's feat.

That fella to seemingly false gods
Giveth his entire devotion, worshipping
Carved and graven images and idols
Instead of the Lord Almighty in heaven.
Even the witches in their chosen coven
And Satan himself are to God bowing.
Idolatry filleth God's heart with sorrow
Like adultery bringeth to a home woe.

Strutting like a lion as though i had
In my cent-packed wallet a million
Toward the belle enchanting. I, a chap
Plucky from my teens, have learnt dominion
Over cheeky fear and cowardice
By tutoring myself at least thrice
Fold in uttering plain convincing speech
Betimes to she who my eye and heart
Will lure by her graces, a maiden that
Her goodness doth to my soul preach.
Though confidence may win me a popsy
Fair; yet it can't fill her empty belly.

Though i should have a M. Maybach and Bently
And Ferari, owning houses in the world's
Chief cities--mansions worth millions
Of US dollars, with yachts and jets; and be
Decked in designers and a bespoke Rolex--
One that none again the very sort of
'Watch possesses; and with many a dove
Stunning be surrounded oft as we in ***
Roll hither and thither in uncensored ******;
And i should become for merriment an epicure;
Filling my head with diverse theories impure,
which give not mine soul that lasting bliss;
And though i should have plenitude of cash
Stashed in a vault away, with gold and diamond
Great; but if not for heaven i am bound
Afterward in afterlife, then, all is trash.

.               When                                                             ­                     
                  175                      ­                                                              
                  met                                           ­                           At    9:59    a    blood
             ­     with                                                        ­             curdling         scream
                   77                                                                  ­      was      heard     from
to 85 the world held                                                           sea    ­ to     see.    The
their   breath.  People                                                  ­        unimaginable    had
gathered          round                                          ­                happened.          Two
town.          Strangers                                         ­                 words   .   .   .  It   fell.
held     hands.      And                                                  ­       Toppled     over   like
liberty     street    was                                                    ­       my    old   jenga   set.
ironically         named.                                                         Soot   covered    faces
I  was  so   young.  So                                                       ­   Stared       into     our
terrified.   Screaming                                           ­               hearts.  The     bright
and   crying    at    the                                              ­           colors     stained     on
newscasters   on   TV.                                                          our ­        flag         had
I  thought   of  people                                                       ­   different      meanings
who     were     there.                                                          t­han     before.      Red;
That I  knew.  Daddy?                                                 ­       for   what    we    bled.
Where are you? Why                                                        White;­  for smoke that
can't  I call  you?  This                                                 ­       fell like  a  blizzard  in
was  much  too much                                                        late January. Blue; for
For  a  wee 5  year old                                                        the   ­ tears    we   shed.

                                      But on 9/11/11, we started new.

On a Sunday morn he by the
Holy Ghost power arose, the third
day from the merciless Sheol--
the Saint who for the sinners died,
when he was cruelly crucified,
that Friday noon on Calvary's cross,
to redeem many a perishing soul.