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Every one of you had every opportunity to see me.
I wasn't hiding,
locked away behind doors in a jail cell.
If you wanted to see me,
all you had to do was walk up the stairs.
The door was wide open.
It still is.
 Sep 2015 Dexter Terzungwe
Emma
They wonder why
I still write about you
But how can I tell them
that I still think about you
that I still dream about you
that I still pass the places
where you existed
and have to stop to catch my breath
How can I explain
to those who love me
that pain is optional
but I accept the pain
if it means feeling you again
if it means having you back for a second
You were a forest fire
and I was a leaf
I loved you so much
I learned to deal
with the burn
that comes along
with your warmth
I still write about you because I don't know how to stop.
Leaving your mark upon me,
Kissing my shaking hand,
Keeping my dreams above me,
Loving me despite high demand,

I do not deserve you.

Calming my nervous thought,
Holding me in your arms,
Helping me through fights fought,
Standing beside me despite alarms,

I do not deserve you.

Ignoring the unnecessary struggles I cause,
Embracing my love, although I might be annoying,
Loving me despite all my flaws,
Accepting all that comes from me, and all that is adjoining,

*And I do not deserve you.
09-14-15
Rib
Make my heart stir once more

Furthering a silicon sickness

Unreachable this time

Sworn from these graces so long ago

An immense melody scarring reflections

This too will haunt our past

Speaking with bruised wrists

All roads home are now erased

Mountains yielding permanence

Emerging with gorgeous anticipation

Shed their fallen attempts

For your eyes are not green

They were born from the most ancient of moss

Wrapped in a dripping globular of starlit jade
 Sep 2015 Dexter Terzungwe
niamh
I have lied my way
Through life
And spilled my truth
Upon these pages.
A persona presented
Face to face
Is lost within the ink
Of the pen.
Created by insecurities,
Derived from expectations
Unjudged by blank sheets.
Only those who read me
Truly know me.
 Sep 2015 Dexter Terzungwe
Cade
soft dew-touched lips brush,
against hardened lovely lies,
like late summertime
---
outside it is dark,
with great mischief in the wind,
I wander alone,
---
a soft summer breeze,
plays lightly against warm skin,
whispering of love,
The Artist painted
the skies and molded
the stars and galaxies
to His liking.

He sculpted the
mountains out of
clay and dirt.

He wrote music
and taught the birds
to sing His chords.

He carved a place
for the ocean and
poured His love
in its depths.

He made man.
He knit veins to bones.
Skin to ligaments and muscle.
Built a cage to protect our heart
as He knew that it
is so easily broken.
He connected nerves to the brain
and in that brain,
He made so complex of a
system that science is still
baffled by the ***** that
holds the information
of our personality.
Our emotions.
Our passions.

Then.
He did something crazy.
Insane.

He gave man free will.
To love or to hate.
To turn to or against.

And man turned against.
Hid from his Creator.
The One who knows his
inmost being.

And beauty was distorted.

All that is beautiful
is only an
echo.

An echo of the home
that we once knew.
An echo of the original
Artist, the one who
taught us to create.

*All I can do now
is to try and capture
Your beauty
to show to others.
 Jun 2015 Dexter Terzungwe
Duzy
She feels his waves lap up her. Her boat rocks side to side
He knows he's wasting his time. He can't force the pride to slide

The months they feel like years. Her timing has always been off
The flame he carries inside him burns the gas she won't turn off.

She kids herself into thinking that she's better off where she is
He rarely gets closer than arms length. Cos she likes him where he is.

She knows that she could be happier. But comfort wins for now
But he tells her the same, there's a name for this game but he can't recall it right now.

He goes out with his heart locked up and the key she keeps in her purse
Guess she didn't know she had it but he hid it somewhere in this verse

Fearful of the consequences of his affections

If he's not at work, he's thinking of the things he might have said
To some how keep her from slinking into another mans bed.

So he waits upon her shore. He stands here every day
His throat is getting sore from trying to scream the clouds away

But he doesn't see the rain, creep up behind his back
Each poison drop could **** his crop and leave his scorched earth black.

She throws around her colours once more and grey gives way to blue.
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