"8th March 2018 A pen found its ink A purpose found its man
Art, The mother of all that's beautiful brought me a gift A life skill that would be my passage of lift
He came to life in unhealthy mental weathers, his soul was birthed in shabby unearthly waters and bound to mine in an everlasting covalence. he was given to me an agent of healing – an outlet, a living freedom; a drain for my pain,
a gift and a curse he is a stain on the domain of my name – but I take pride in our duality, my existence paradigm was on the edge of a cliff suicidal - I lay on my back under the roof of a gloomy identity my name and my frame soaked in melancholia of a quantity that exceeds the infinite.
DEAR WORDSMITH You and I Are a year older I am a decade wiser I can feel it in my hair the truth in its absolute quintessence is a universe closer.
The way you hold my mind in your gloves gives me sleepless nights and faceless days but who am I to question my panacea? I promise I will make the most of what we can be.
A savior, a tutor, a sage My poet, my light, my flame, my light.
A year ago - i became a poet. Help me appreciate my penman. This is my first post here with you family. Thanks.