The allure of everything bad

The allure of vices that nullify circumstances which make living seem sad

The 'Hollywood' cigarette, the hard liquor... *******, crystal ****

All very romanticized but in reality, isn't that really just a self-induced slow death?

We don't talk about it, until we watch from the sidelines

If only for a second

When partaking one repeats quotes like 'it is what it is'

'I am not a quitter'

You've built up a tolerance for one, so you beckon

The bartender to pour you a second

Social trend like a hot topic on twitter

So now you want more

You ignorantly jab the needle inside you like you don't know what your signing up for

In a sense you don't, for you choose not to

Addiction entraps... but who?

Not you

And the moment you decide to go cold turkey

It appears more enticing in another movie, or in the hands of a fellow druggie

Impossible to reject

Relapse... rubber band effect

Yet even he that doesn't use gets a little curious

One day the stress becomes too much to handle, he's peeved

He's furious

He's heard of pills sold over the counter, and also of those available from dusty cobwebbed shelves

By dealers with hollowed out eyes, ghosts of their former selves

In an alternate reality

Where 'it's all good'

It's all about finding solace in one happy, high family... 'It's all hood'

A distorted image of zoned out smiling faces

Floating around in temporary elation

These vices have comforted and haunted many, way before our so called '******* generation'

The druggie, the alcoholic or the *** addict you see... could be your's or someone else's dad

Or it could very well be you or me

Seduced by the allure of everything bad

I write this expecting it to be misunderstood by many...

For a judgement between bad and good

I myself could be affiliated to one of these vices... or many

Someone reading this may have already renamed it 'The allure of everything good'.

I need no help

I need someone to rely on

My situation is one I wish they would keep an eye on

I need no wealth, just a mattress I could lie on

This cold floor makes my bones quake

Do I deserve this? Did I sin or make some colossal mistake...

That I'm being punished for?

Is that why I feel so malnourished and sore?

They look at me with pity while taking a tour

Of our camp... my 'home'

They will return and say they did something noble today and spent time with 'the poor'

I'm not poor, I am my father's son

And if they took the time to listen, they would realize that I stand proud for something my father has done

Or 'did'

He saved my siblings and I you see, held the door shut as we ran away through the back

As attackers tried to break in

My father is dead, but his legacy has stuck

With us... my brothers and I

And if I fold and break now I know my younger brothers will die

So I arch my back and eye the government minister looking right at me

Hoping he sees my plight

But it seems lost to him like a shadow in the night

His expression remains as dry as the inside of my mouth

He doesn't need to pay attention to me now, there are no cameras about.

Whether it happens next... or this year

The vote

In memory of the last time I shed 'this tear'

And wrote... a piece

For the blood that flooded the streets

When in vain we sought

For calm... for peace

In a situation that was out of our control

A raging fire that almost engulfed and burnt all

When we all watched our motherland fall

Almost

When darkness threatened to blind all... or most...

Kenyans

When a neighbour would suddenly become a stranger... a ghost

Alien

Incited by the devil's seed

Damien

Brothers, sisters overcome by evil... greed

The same one...

That would then start a war... civil

And feed... off it

I, one individual Kenyan plead

That this time we say no to violence

We 'off it'

Let the disgruntled nurse his frustrations in silence

No blood for 'office'

And let us not get coaxed into foolish acts

To ourselves, we owe this

Let hatchets be buried away with the bones

Old ghosts can't haunt us

I shed a tear for peace this... or next year

Deaf ear to he that tries to taunt us

'Make the right choice'

I hope I reach many

And many hear my one voice

But this message cannot just be spread by me... so its 'we'

We can do it, and God wills it

Let it be

That we journey toward serenity

To a better tomorrow... come with me

The best way I can encourage my brothers and sisters

Is through poetry

For as a country and a culture we are destined to soar sky high

Thus... 'the pride of Africa'

We should always be

Peace.

Detached, heartless

Cold

Reattached, 'Jah bless'

Bold

Full speed ahead

Clear view

Wipers, windshield

Can't work with the rear view... mirror

I write, **** them dead

Killer

Let them say "Dude, the verse... you murdered it!"

'Ill'er'

But still I... wonder if they got the message

Wonder whether or not they feel 'I'

Whether or not they got what I wrote

Do they think of me as the 'blacksmith' that hit the iron 'while its hot'...

Or not?

Write up a sword, Wordsmith... real thought

Pulling at my mind from both sides

Really taught

In their hearts, will they reserve a spot...

For that which us poets wrote?

Or for the messages they feel we brought...

Forth?

Did we succeed in pointing their moral compass upwards... north?

It would be disappointing if they read, moved on and forgot

For we aim to provoke thought

Intelligence is put to better use when wisdom is sought

Against the odds, we've fought

Expressive vigilance was sold to us... we bought

Free as the winds... set sail our boat

On a sea where storms are rife

We chose to stay afloat

Stay true

So if you're still reading thank you, for giving me a few minutes of your life.

Detached, heartless

Cold

Reattached, 'Jah bless'

Bold

Full speed ahead

Clear view

Wipers, windshield

Can't work with the rear view... mirror

I write, **** them dead

Killer

Let them say "Dude, the verse... you murdered it!"

'Ill'er'

But still I... wonder if they got the message

Wonder whether or not they feel 'I'

Whether or not they got what I wrote

Do they think of me as the 'blacksmith' that hit the iron 'while its hot'...

Or not?

Write up a sword, Wordsmith... real thought

Pulling at my mind from both sides

Really taught

In their hearts, will they reserve a spot...

For that which us poets wrote?

Or for the messages they feel we brought...

Forth?

Did we succeed in pointing their moral compass upwards... north?

It would be disappointing if they read, moved on and forgot

For we aim to provoke thought

Intelligence is put to better use when wisdom is sought

Against the odds, we've fought

Expressive vigilance was sold to us... we bought

Free as the winds... set sail our boat

On a sea where storms are rife

We chose to stay afloat

Stay true

So if you're still reading thank you, for giving me a few minutes of your life.

It is written
That there shall come a time when all the great poets shall be heard
It is written... by me

It is written
That there shall come a time when all the greats shall achieve their destinies
It is written... by me

It is also written
That their messages shall reach all... by air, by land
And by sea

Patience young poet, it is worth the wait
Have some faith
Think of that which you have put on paper throughout the years
Think back and appreciate your unique and creative ability to express yourself
And be proud of you
Be proud of that which you do
Young poet
You are a legend
And you know it
Ambitous young poet
It is your world
You own it
Let no one tell you otherwise
One word separates you from the others... 'wise'
This, young poet you need to realize
Work on your art
Don't compromise
Let the words express the passion they see in your eyes
Young poet
I understand and can relate with you
Young poet
Know that it is genius because you wrote it
You are a lion, not a kitten
Stand up and roar, and if they ask you why you are doing it
Tell them 'it is written'.

Her's is a story
One worth a listen
She'd walk past
And man how she'd shine... how she'd glisten
A beauty of sorts
In street lingo... 'hot'
She'd have toungues in knots... nervous men
Dry throats
But her story does not end so well... she blew it
Problem was, she was hot as hell... and she knew it
Her ego was big, and still this girl grew it
Her response to advice was usually "***** it"
If it was bad and immoral you bet she would do it
Her actions eventually caught up with her
She did not just 'get slapped' by life... it beat her
It hit her with sense
Too late though... she seems to die by the day
By the booz, by the drugs
She misses her mother's affectionate hugs
Her mother disowned her
After her first **** claimed he owned her
Now she wakes up by chance
Smells death all around her
Sad story for one who was once goddess intense.