Bursting open in the dark, the eyes metamorphosis
that bites at the primrose – as the yellow blossoms
fold away into the sun; staring at dry tears…
that familiar drought of words to cater for growing
younglings; walking them down the path for better days

The lands bloom with industrialization for the work
of poverty’s hands - stretched black fingers across
to anyone who tries to bring crime to end; also stained
by doing such crimes to make end’s meet, of those fathers
who hustle all day on the street: called out as deadbeats
even when their fill their bellies with meat

All of which are the eyes filled with hidden lies; disguising
themselves of doing well, “of course I’m doing much fine”
underneath a place of broken roofs; old newspapers to fill
the emptiness in plus size shoes, that have to last you the next
few years – all are insisting to survive; praying for a divine
help with stored up faith, to put food in their empty shelves

How once ancestors lived, of self-sacrifice to go out to
provide for your family’s needs- history does always repeat
itself — but this barren land bares no seeds, no capital to
sprout most of your bright ideas; while weeds of corruption
grows faster than food- feeding ourselves well into wickedness


These bedded nights, so afraid to pray for strength for
tomorrow; if tomorrow will keep us going for our strength
to survive- still the length of your strength begins from the
mind: what do you put in it to strengthen it more… turning
pages of the Holy book, or touring pages of the internet’s
standards of one’s successful appearance, of looking good

Plan out your actions wisely for the future; strategies on an
ordained path – the sweet coming of the morning is the
hope we all must hope to hold; for no one really knows when
it’s their time to go; the end is truly unpredictable- unpredictable
as the end to this po…