Angelic soul but made of thorns
Between a river and a plain she was born
The day all stars have fallen upon-
Some planet merely governed by non
The day her soul grew, magic dwelled on-
A universe been stuck in a single dawn
Upon dark wells emptied of emptiness
Mountains full of secrets nobody could confess
I stress! And I stress! On a seen-
My mouth got stuck trying to express
With pleading ears I sense a hiss
Crawling in me, its source I couldn't guess
Until it tickled my mind with flaccidity
Obsessed! A language mixed with peace and tranquility
Some feeling I once experienced, I eventually guessed
Therefore I stumped, I've fallen into a cosmos of bliss
The sun got perfect, the sky seemed disassembled
The moon got reckless, the oceans trembled
On the same hiss that summoned
My thoughts, my scars, for her to assemble
It is a cold friday morning
and the sun isn't rising
I am on my bed doing nothing
The whole day is so boring...
I decided to take a zip of coffee
And a bit of bread to fill my tummy
I sat down and turned on the TV
And watched one theatrical movie,
This is how I spend my day
Sleeping, eating, watching all day
And if you think I had nothing to say
You're probably right, we'll put it this way...
I am just boring so I wrote this poem,
Do you think its nice? Don't get me wrong,
I have a lot like this, much better and long,
Some are Stories, Quotations and Song.
Now if you want to follow me,
To see my works and poetry...
Just leave a message or talk to me,
So you can join my World and Fantasy!
©2017 John Vincent Obiena. All rights reserved.
Same shit different day
But today is New Year's Day
....Same shit different day
New Year's Eve leftovers
Stuck on resolutions & do overs
Picking up the broken pieces & starting over
I headed to work with every intention to make it all better
Then I picked up "Friday's paper"
Said it once then said it twice
A part inside felt a little less safer
Homeboy died in Friday's paper
police Closed his eyes
but he finally feels a lot safer
Mommas screaming why in Friday's paper
Rather die than suffer & stay alive
Spend eternity w| her angel
Because in her eyes
There's no survival
Where's God when all you know is sinning
Baby's hungry so he prepared to break in
But that's not what they saying
Friday's paper headline "thug break in"
He want the money & the drugs
So he break in
Food ain't enough & he breaking
How can he step forward in a world they already set locked gates in
In other words segregation
Buts it's decades later
Yea well you know segregation
Under one nation
Shit, ain't nothing different
Just ask Friday's paper for confirmation
Poor white man w| mommy issues
finally had enough & shot up the whole school
Young black thug shot cs his black hoodie ain't seem too cool,
Ok Amber we coming to the rescue
Tyrone got kidnapped who?
I know y'all see this
or do y'all got a blind eye too
cs there's no reason why we have to fight to survive
while you ask daddy for a check or two
I'm living off a check or two
& you need 3 bathrooms to survive
why does the law apply to me
more than it does to you?
How do you look down on me
when I created you?
that ain't you
but here comes Friday's paper right on cue
Zendayas dreads are unacceptable
twerking is ghetto too
While "keeping up" with the exact life you ridicule
then have the caucacity to put it in Friday's paper too
Let the wind and rain on this dreary day refresh your mind, and seep into this, the very corners of your soul. That way we can drink in the storm together. Instead of our midweek coffee, hot, we'll brew this Friday morning cold, and sip until the weekend appears. Polite and unfolding, as the packet of paper and its peers, for the cream is sweet enough for the cold brew itself. And so I ask of you. Would you drink in a metaphor or two with me, just for a break? In order to take away, from the truth of day which has yet to grow but an hour old. Let the wind and rain suppress all thought, as we sit beside, in the room of old. Breaking, waiting for the will-less voice which always seems to sleer and say...get back to work you sleepy, seeping, sipping souls. Take your supposed spice coffee calling called cold brew and go.
Though today is Tuesday
Many think it Monday,
But that was yesterday...
'Twas a Bank Holiday!
Which in a strange weird way
Many thought was Sunday,
But just on Saturday
All of us knew the day!
But who cares anyway?
Tomorrow is Wednesday,
Just to get through Thursday
Then hooray!! 'Tis Friday!