Our wealth an unfaithful wife, she's sooner gone when perils knock.
A bridegroom to poverty you may find yourself. A glutton, not a meal will she spare.
Our vessels, dust that longs for dust, in daily decay.
Our habitats, pedestrians in paths of typhoons and waves.
Our families, cups of bliss, a well of dismay.
We dull the mind in sewers, with each sip an illusion of joy resumes, as sorrows sleep.
A well of eternal bliss longed for having rejected The Owner. The springs of life freely flows but sewers we have preferred.
The spring of life flows freely the invite has been shared.
The last light fading
Blood red eyes
The last struggle
Kicking and boxing towards the sky
Hoping to see the light
In murky dwellings of whales and sharks
Afraid, dazed and crushed
The grip on life fades like dusks, while praying for the sunrise
When we struggle we find ourselves feeling alone. I hope you have someone to support you don't drown from your tears. Live
Down a path where arteries will meet the scythe.
Deceased silhouettes suffocating in defeat.
A spark struggles to illuminate the way before the feet.
cloaked in disbelief, conversing with grief.
Climbing an empty ladder,
dreams clustered beyond reach.
With worn bones aiming to reach beyond the known peak.
Throat slit life pouring through pale hands.
The songs of shinigamis perpetually melancholy.
Ever shallow breaths, no escape. Rumba with death the floor a canvas for the evening's Mural.
This is dark poem don't lose hope though. When you're at a loss there's always hope remember that and you can walk any path.
I charged at the enemy, slashed,cracked,pierced wounded and killed.
The ecstasy of fleeting lives, still stale eyes, a ****** reached.
***** mingled with feces, kidneys cooked by grenades, a scent
of the battlefield.
I am in diapers my ***** now mingled with feces, faces of nurses
scowling. Words abandoned the mind, my skin a wrinkled cloth.
Scars of a warriors pride long faded. I can taste no more, my sight
a sea of shadows, whispers cling to my ears. I long for battle cries.
I use to breathe now I'm bedridden with tubes and diapers.
no sleep no rest no peace nor death.
I wrote a poem called the old lady, this one is about an old man.
Deep wounds on my back, I'm a gallery of scars. Take a gander feast your eyes, a tarnished heart is my signature.
Vistiges of my soul dangling on toothpicks, dinner well relished by friends foes glimmer with empathy. Malice pleased, who is my enemy?
The excrement of animals drowning in the sewers, is that the existence the best of self I can only persue huh?
A warrior's last breath asking for help. Will I sleep quietly without a helping hand,
Will I sleep quietly without a helping hand?
With dead dreams
Can you ever sleep?
Struggled, befriended effort
Only to return to blankets
Of disheartenment where despondency
Warms your heart as it tears you apart.
Do your dreams die
When sleep departs?
Shattered limbs and blisters reposed in your mind.
The blood moon residing in your eyes.
Your resolves never diverging as you hobble.
Paving the path with skin, flesh and blood.
Sleeping beyond the grave
Do dreams live on?
Eyes roped by gardens of thorns and fleeting petals. Dreams whistle wonders kindling hope, in hearts of those still asleep, wandering in dreams.
Inspired by Doyin