Before I went digital, it was the pencil to paper lyrical

Before I went digital, it was the pencil that led through the led to find sense in the sentence

Before I went digital, my fingers went hysterical, it was an algorithm analogous to stay primitively liberal

Before I went digital, putting anything on screen was criminal - so the lens of my iris was the only visual

Before I went digital, the rush crucified the wood of my pencil like they would lynch blacks on trees for being cynical

Before I went digital, everything was a drawing of the critical - like mining coal my product had fruit and multiplied like the Adam and Eve spirituals

Before I went digital, I had literacy that took my literature to the actual cultural and literal.

Raw days were the utmost poetrical, all this before I went digital.

the truth falls on deaf ears
atrocities make mutes
the illusion blinds the faint hearted
putting your nose knee deep into reality might make you lose your mind
never forget who plays a hand in the steps you take so always hit rewind
remember every breath you take is a chance to touch a soul consciously
awake to the sleep that has many hypnotised
lies are told to keep the truth in the dark so open the book of secrets and be bright.

For a moment we were a bond
For a moment we worth holding
For a moment we were a magic potent

In a flash we were broken
In an instant sparks were forsaken
In a bang opportunities were stolen


... Where a love could have been woven
Strong feelings could have flown like a raven
Now all are memories that I hold as a token

For a moment our hearts were set ablaze
For a moment to your desires I was a slave
For a moment a future we found urgent to contemplate

In a rush you were so harsh and gushed words so harsh
In a boom I was your worst enemy
In a long pause you forgot that you were more than a friend to me

... Where we flowed and soared like a phoenix raw we were no more
Where we had a vehement chemistry you left a smart sore
Where you laid beautiful tapestries you left a sheath of forlorn hope torn

And now we are no more
In a moment
In an instant
In a flash
Baby please come back

we used to flow like the river
but now we're cold as ice

we used to feed on the fruits of romance
now we have dry pastures fielded with ignorance

we used to check each other coast to coast
now we barely see eye to eye
love was blind but gained sight
and it saw on the other side of loneliness strides
I used to write and you would ride
ride my words like a pony of beautiful thoughts

we used to send each other smiley faces and sweet nothings
now we're the image of people who used to know each other but just retire their memories on some couples' anthology
I write poetry to fit the gaps left by emotionless apologies
Were you sorry to leave or were you sore for being a thief?
the thief of my heart, a pioneer of love and its jeers
I would cry and cry a river of tears but that doesn't shake off the forthcoming fears
I thought we would last years and years but now all we have is a map of memories and ambitions lost in wonderland

We used to be the superheroes of love and affection,
now we're stripped off all its comic books
It was high and a frivolity when you shook me with your spark
Now I throw darts hoping it didn't leave too deep a mark
a game I play myself, to weigh how much you meant to me
it was quite a quilt our time together, a ballad crocheted by picturesque tapestries
oh my we used to be,
now seeing you is a trivial novelty
for I do not know the person you've become
I hope your new love does not come out undone
I will be waiting for my own new love, excreting the little passions that still remain in the coffers of my soul
We used to be but now there is no more you and me

just old pictures of fallen and abandoned leaves
may memory pick them up and blow them into the seasons that are the seams,
the seams of the strings of time.

The night is young, most lights are out. You're a sad one if at the end of the night you are without. You fail to flash flair if you dare have doubt. It's the nightlife and there are multiple exchanges. It's wild, the young are free and they don't fear the dangers.

The saaz hop pops and the syrups drop. Jack is swallowed, Daniel follows and sons feel like paps. The captain is shot down and Johnnie leads the way so even in the morning they'd keep walking. It's a feminine thing at the Red Square when joy and tears are shared. All feeling bubbly they smoke on hubbly. They reach their destination when the Three Ships land at the breeze of the Southern Comfort. The boys walking down the streets reeling say hi time and time again - but it sounds like Heineken. It is a thriller, she Miller, when she sinks and the body turns into an ocean.

These syrups, energizer potions, inspire wilderness. They get loud and walk proud as friend and he have fine girls for the night found. Scream "uhm-I'm still" for it is the beverage that tells - it is Amstel. High and drunk, in loose mode, the thought reeling in mind is "take off clothes" - play with pole. Sleep with the girl that he has stole. Stories of old, not for folks (only amongst peers are told). It is he weak a man, he who chokes. He who can't make it to the morning.

Drunk emotions are starting, it's time to head for the bed. And all the while, the thought reeling through their minds as they move side to side, is that it was no fantasy and conclusion that reel is real

Here's we are again, penning thoughts and emotions
Like soaking off the excess out our underarms where skin quaffs on the sweat and odour till the air sets in

EMOTIONS HAVE PASSED and EMOTIONS HAVE BEEN SAVORED, Quite an anthology. We keep each other alive and inspired as poets
Whether we are trending or sharing and adding to Collections; there is certainly a consciousness in there

What subject matter would make for this object's subjugation to sense and reason.
The object being the writing here present to play plaintiff against ignorance and iniquity
Idle-minds to their defence are short-sighted as they have whims whisked by the moment
So who can really blame the ignorant and uneducated for they long for the rush and excitement... raw passion like kissing bosoms for the first time and unfurling a woman's body as the clothes surrender into your hands and collapse on the floor

So the unintelligent are merely maniacs in their own right
So we leave this verdict to the jury
The neutral minds that neither vote for poetry nor prose
Never vouching for friend or foe
Dissecting potential among amateur and pros

A little diction to feed off an addiction of anecdotal fiction
In it Again, poised to put words to phrased tapestries

And I will resuscitate and alleviate as I heal from poetry hypochondria
Where I constantly play tricks on myself
After I read the product, the synthesis is simply: I've done it, I'm in it again.