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Young dumb: there is no hope

Wise old: Expansion      growth/
it's demanding    volts/
obstacles/
in view
somewhat a few/
of course
perhaps an obstacle course/
the whole gamut gauntlet
at times seems damning
daunting lost/
learn to manage take advantage of those hauntings/

Young: I'm exhausted...

Wise old: I won't/
let you fail when you feel like giving up, don't/
when you feel like you can't get up do/
when you feel like you stuck that's when you move/

Young dumb: people keep saying things
They should be helping me/

Wise old: Ha Ha the road to success is no A to B/
It's more like A-Z many unexpected stops in between/
It's your dream people can't see
Your goals you must achieve/
You want the good news first or the bad news?

Young Dumb: Bad news

Wise old: The bad news is ain't no one going to help/
Good news I just told you now you can prepare yourself/

\Sounds of theDoor opens slow/

Wife: Honey who you talking too?

Wise old: A question online what would a conversation sound between me now and the younger you.
Feelings climb out of me constantly
Twisting my stomach and pulling at my heart
For once
I wish i didnt feel sick
So nauseated by my emotions
So extreme
Stuck inside
Such a fragile case.
 Aug 2016 Marrion Kiprop
AMcQ
I have no medium to capture you, perfect scene.
No lens or film can render your essence.
There are no words to speak of your beauty.
There is no sense to taste your presence.
i.

my nettles sting,
my mind dreams
of ghosts,
nothing seems
to settle
under that hovering
sky of wire.

ii.

lost to a broken civilization
in a sky of sighs
caves filled with
ice.

iii.

further than the sky,
further than the sea.

iv.

dreams like drowning
pools

the waving wind
the castles of the mind.


v.

shadows
unwinding
the slow pulse of
the earth,
like the battling
waves,
like the far, far
dream of a star.
Thanks  everyone  for  all  your  support.
I  cannot  keep  up  with  all  the
notifications.
It,s  truly  wonderful.
Thanks  very  much  again..

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
 Aug 2016 Marrion Kiprop
Stephan
.

When dark clouds collide and
thunder erupts on shaken stares,
rains fall in unrelenting sorrows
along bramble thorn threads,
screaming leaves crash
into a frozen ground
of broken branches
and disgraced smiles,

as cardboard condos
dot the litter strewn landscape
and graffiti drips
in tobacco stained puddles
at the feet of those
standing in an endless line
for bits and scraps
of the life they once knew,

while sons and daughters
face the monsters drugged
by beliefs conjured
on sand blasted battlefields
and bibles of their own deciphering,
bridging the elongated gaps
between lies and promises by those
disguised in designer pantsuits
with fingers crossed
behind their backs

and children have secrets ******
upon them through filthy fingernails
hiding under bed frames
of rusted iron and disgusting touches,
silenced by the horror
of squeaking hinges
and foot steps in the hall,
crying for mothers who don’t believe,

the tears of a poet will be revealed,
bleeding through the page
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