"bron" poems
Lebron James, he's the man. Steve Nash? Get a tan! The king owns Miami any day, Bron v.s Kobe on tv, I'd pay. His dunks electrify the crowd ever night, if you like Kobe, you shouldn't even be reading this, go fly a kite. I respect Kobe, I can't lie, but Lebron, his legacy is up to the sky. Lebron brings his talents to south beach, there bigger than Halo Reach. I will admit, Michael Jordan is the best of the all, and Yao Ming is really tall, but Lebron is the king, and by the end of his career, his hands will be filled with rings.
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
Karma was child from a humble family whose dream had a spoonful of wishes. She never thought of a hen sitting on her plate for lunch until her body shaped to capture the focus of the community.
Her and hard work were inseparable, and motivation sparked from her deeds. This was short lived by blindfolds of moments. She then landed in a ditch of blessings which surpassed her baring as paper made solutions to all her faults and soonest laziness took her for a companion.
Yes, she had completely forgotten her path neither could she trace her background, for looks bought her a ticket to a lifestyle and rather failed to resist becoming stingy.
She learnt not the meaning of love for it carried no sense, and the she needed not to learn of true love, oh how could she for to her it was a monster that stole opportunities.
The caterpillar she was grew into a butterfly one seen by many and so touched by those whose hands could afford the beautiful colours of its petals. Souls fell apart over the turned beauty of the wings that went toxic. The meal that went bad before the harvest of a promised yield.
The love to taste of the night shinning sun evolved many to empty pockets and others to bundles of regret to disease and misfortune. It wasn’t her making nor desire, it was the glory of Gods carvings that alerted those near and far to come eco and share of visibility of a living being stationed as nature.
This beauty scorched mens eyes day in and day out as she melted souls and flowers faded in the sun. she glowed on gentle pockets, never invested any seeds for a tomorrow. Time wasn’t her ally, it brought a change in season as the clouds ushered in rain sprouted new and better yields that out competed the market of the former.
Clouds shrinked and a dark tomorrow was born, the wine tasted more bitter than old wine in a new bottle. Then the veterans got and adopted new medals at the cost of the old fades of the butterfly contests.
What was left was a story tale with a bunch of little and innocent ferries whose direction was unfolded but hope set from a single ray through the thickest forest.
Thomas Bron Mukama
#herdsmanofprogress
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 2:33 AM UTC
My name is Thomas Bron Mukama
I come from the hills of the west of my country
Born in the cold during a busy day of labour
Joy sprouted when i touched the soils
In excitement was grabbed and held to the sky a sign i had descended from there
God had released me amongest men named mukama as my heavenly father
The birds taught me to sing though not to fly
They flew down to the ground where i should stay not the sky for i would have no company above
The mountains werent shaken and i delight in climbing them
Am a son of hardwork laid not in amanger rather in bananas
I grew to learn i only limit myself
As i stand in abilities unseen besides foretales
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 2:47 PM UTC
Hon brukar ha på sig en mössa
Som gömmer en del av långa håret
En gyllene kaskad som inte blöter
Men är *** lugnande, och skiner
Mössan skämmer aldrig bort ansiktet
Huset till hennes fina ögon, gul, grå, och blå
En blandning som måste bedömas som perfekt
Så tydlig som en plus en är lika med två
Det känns alltid bra att resa söderut
Att flygga utifrån språngbrädan
Och att ta **** tack vare vinden
Som blåser periodiskt när hon andas ut
Jag landar då på hennes mun
Som hyser den hemliga bron
Som väntar på att jag närmar mig för att hälsa på,
Inte varje gång, men det blir alltid en härlig överraskning då
Jag brukar stanna kvar där en stund
Vaggad av vågorna bildas av hennes läppars kurvor
Och inser att man kan väl resa utan att flytta på sig
Jag står här orörlig och kysser henne
Det räcker för att skapa nya banor
Som leder till ett ställe som kallas extas
Ett ställe som kan enbart finnas
När vi är tillsammans,
När det finns inget avstånd mellan oss
När vi är i mitten av en sensuell dans
Det är klart att jag vill ta ingen paus
Men hellre fortsätta tills natten gradvis raderas av solen
Tills det är dags att börja om resan igen.
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 4:47 AM UTC
The ignorant share their ignorance
Spreading it out like wild fire
The knowledgable strive in silence
As they are believed to be at the right stand
Who will dress them, who can correct them?
Those that know stay put while uninformed stray the public
Their words are so hot that they attract souls with magnets of deceit
They speak with influence even when they understand not what they speak
Those that know feel entitled and handle share for they are the books of consultation
Mother didnt let us die in straying as she picked a cain to every wrong her child did with the friends
There was so isolation for everyone was a victim of circumstance failing to watch your brothers back.
Now that the clouds are darker who will guide the lame thoughts and pride of the generation that is all knowing or perhaps whats the degree that makes up what is known by many
Now that i can eat from the bowl in person whats the need of my neighbor!
And whats their need when paper money can stand as my brother and witness
Their thoughts are enslaved with anger which may have arisen from the light of facts or from a bullied speech
As they raise their hopes they dull that of others
Their survival is struck from ********** those that surround them. Did you say jungle law. I thought i had you right.
What if i cant cry to mother, will God depart from my fights.
So i live a life of them amdong the living
The souls walk with Grace clothed in terror
Dear the fallen, its not peaceful back here, it was better there i would join you. I remember i know the way but still find comfort in sin.
They do sin for pleasure and sin to get glory
They sin for the sake of the tomorrow which we have have been waiting since creation
Maybe the lame are luck not to walk into sin, maybe the blind since they may wisk away from seeing sin
What if you can remind me to remember i didnt only come for glory over the soul of my maker.
They have judged and this lasts at death but we have lived by the star of Grace. You are not alone.
Thomas Bron Mukama
#herdsmanofprogress
May 14, 2021
May 14, 2021 at 5:53 AM UTC