Under the sun
Past the rivers that run
Over mountains that reach
To the sky
I will find love
On the wings of a dove
And through oceans
And forests
I fly

Heaven is incomplete without a heavenly romance.
Let a glass of wine be my present circumstance
Take what is here now, let go of a promised chance
A drumbeat is best heard from a distance.

Same hands that formed Venus and Sun
And wove the fabric that makes time run
Same hands brought us here, and when done
Will leave behind dust, as if we were none

If my coming were up to me, I’d never be born
And if my going were on my accord, I’d go with scorn
Isn’t it better that in this world, so old and worn
Never to be born, neither stay, nor be away torn?
I’d never be born, stay or leave, let it be known.

In a time before people, at the dawn of man kind.
"They" were brewing us, body and mind.

A  sprinkle of wit and a pinch of good luck.
"Please pass down the emotional muck".

Some of "they" were good at what they had to do.
Some of them less exact, careless in making our stew.

Going to the extremes was a favorite of a few.
And that is why Some of us are very blue.

"Ill throw in A pinch of zest and a bucketful of sorrow, and an
Annoying tendency to always want to borrow."

"My favorite recipe is: charisma, good looks and toxic waste"
"Ya know! The ones that usually attract the goodhearted that are keen to make haste"

"And my favorite one is for the ones always pursuing what isn't meant to be"
"The recipe calls for 2 tablespoons of ambition I think i'll put in three"

Such is the talk in their heavenly sphere
Perhaps things aren't all that different down here?

When the sun first shows its beaming face,
at the break of a blissful new dawn.
Your birds that exult with elegant grace,
bid farewell to the night that's gone.

Your flowers ornate your vast lands,
of your priceless treasures they boast.
The besotting Kilimanjaro that stands,
dominating your east coast.

You are home to the best precious stones,
the land of gleaming clear waters.
Garnished with skills and strong bones,
you are served by your dutiful daughters.

The soil that expands on your gracious vest,
the equator that cuts your enormous chest,
birds that bear your golden crest,
are a few ideals of your daring zest.

The treasured soil that fills your vast expanse,
the gracious finesse in your every dance.
From Egypt, to South Africa, Nigeria to Kenya,
From the stupefying Sahara to the beatific Victoria.

I love you dear Africa, The land of the wild,
This poem is for you from your little child.