"enslaves" poems
vicious revenge feel its strain.
Engrained forever on a decaying brain.
For its a plague with no andetote. No cure.
Nothings sacred. nothings pure.
No honor here to gain but a grasp of guilt, sorrow and pain.
A trench deep seated with animosity.
Hearts too blinded by hatred to see.
Its walls engulfing like vines round a tree.
But no vegeance shall set you free.
In realising its errors and fate
The soul desperately searches to escape.
Weary, hollow, it longs to retire
But hatred enslaves as its walls grow higher
For this is one prison sentence that will never transpire..
If you fight fire with fire.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC
You are my fire
My titanic ocean
Your Love burns
Right through my
Very soul
Your love can purify me
Make me whole.
The wind of nature
Is like your Love
It's like no other
I've been thinking of
It Encircles me
Dynamically
Breathing upon my heart
Today
That I may inherit it's
Power
And I hear you say
"Come, Fill this vacuum
that your Love
Enslaves me
Cease this emptiness
That fills my soul
Only your love
Can save me
Give me life
Make me whole".
Please speak to
My heart today
Encourage my Love
Please don't delay.
Clear the vagueness
Which impedes me
Come enlighten my
Mind, Body and Soul
And the truth will only
Lead us
To the love that makes
Us whole.....
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
Lack of money is lack of friends; if you have money at your disposal, every dog and goat will claim to be related to you. ~ Yoruba
War has no eyes ~ Swahili saying
There can be no peace without understanding. ~Senegalese proverb
A leader who does not take advice is not a leader. ~ Kenyan proverb
If there is character, ugliness becomes beauty; if there is none, beauty becomes ugliness. ~Nigerian Proverb
Unity is strength, division is weakness. ~ Swahili proverb
Wisdom does not come overnight. ~ Somali proverb
Knowledge without wisdom is like water in the sand. ~ Guinean proverb
Home affairs are not talked about on the public square. ~ African proverb
Show me your friend and I will show you your character. ~ African proverb
Make some money but don’t let money make you. ~ Tanzania
When you are rich, you are hated; when you are poor, you are despised. - African proverb
A man who uses force is afraid of reasoning. ~Kenyan proverb
Traveling is learning. ~Kenyan Proverb
What you learn is what you die with. ~ African proverb
He who is destined for power does not have to fight for it. ~ Ugandan proverb
It takes a village to raise a child. ~ African proverb
Poverty is slavery. ~Somalia
The wealth which enslaves the owner isn’t wealth. ~ Yoruba
Much wealth brings many enemies. – Swahili
You are beautiful, but learn to work, for you cannot eat your beauty. ~Congolese Proverb
A pretty face and fine clothes do not make character. ~Congolese Proverb
Show me your friend and I will show you your character. ~ African proverb
A close friend can become a close enemy.~ African proverb
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
It is a sickness,
That lives amongst,
The focused sky
The curious child,
And the moon illuminated.
It is an endless drone,
That wrenches our stomachs,
Enslaves our neighbours,
And breaks our spirits,
It is worshipped,
Yet will see us forgotten,
A blip on a savanna,
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
...The idea that there's
something else
turns into a dream
of rising suns and
tomorrows of what seem to be
sweet flowers that
bloom upon meadows
beyond crystal
horizons
Shade of a butterfly's wings
brings a cool breeze
and a calm
found only in the eye of
the storm
A glimmering hope
in every grin
of despair
A sparkle rekindling
lost breath
turning into a bushfire
of reckless raging
forged by a selfish desire to be
free
And so this flight
will soar
into great heights
'til this quest
enslaves us all...
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
Black soot
Shrivelled up Cadbury
wrapper eyes
You were not my antidote
You turned a balanced
happy
friendly
spice 'n' all things nice girl
into a hermit with
bloodied fingers, a
self-destructive narcissist
(or did you just
coax her out of her shell)
well
I quit on you
the ****** is the **** spoon
your prose the lighter
your hips the dealer
my heart the coffin.
I cried
I cry
I will cry
Over your constellation swamps
Housing crocodiles
Water-borne diseases
and piranhas
I am naive;
I think my youth protects me.
My youth enslaves me.
Binds me in paper chains.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
goth girl
wearing pastel
doc martens
and black leather
submit
voluntarily
kneel before me
as your master
enslaves you
with this collar
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 6:51 PM UTC
I love them,
They don’t love me.
Why would they?
They’re hot,
Juicy,
And delicious,
And I’m just…
Salty,
******* them down to the bone.
Buffalo wings rip up my insides,
They’ll inflame my chest and belly,
Giving me heartburn,
As I power through my consumption of them,
And yet I still crave them on a frequent basis,
As if I didn’t learn my lesson the last time.
Bone in or bone out,
It doesn’t really matter at this point,
I gave up trying to develop a preference,
As I’m committed to my hankering,
And seek regular satisfaction,
From the sensation and flavor they provide me.
Eyes full of tears,
I power through the pain,
Believing that each and every wing is worth it,
Even if I know they don’t agree with me,
And know **** well they are not good for me,
It’s like hitting yourself in the face,
But laughing at the sound it makes.
Wings come in all shapes, sizes and flavors,
But I choose the buffalo wing every time,
For the mere fact that they taste the best,
Even if they end up causing the most damage.
They don’t even fill me up,
But they do make me feel like I’ve had enough.
How many buffalo wings would it take,
For me to try a new flavor?
Is it the saltiness that appeals to me?
Is it the spiciness that enslaves me?
Is it the drippiness that seduces me?
Why not something sweeter, like BBQ,
Or savorier like Parmesan Garlic?
Why not choose plain old wings,
With a little bit of seasoning to keep it interesting?
Nope, I’ll always go for the buffalo wing,
I’ll always have that craving,
Because sometimes, living on the edge,
Knowing the risks and going ahead anyway,
Makes loving wings all the more worth it,
Despite their destructive ways.
Oct 30, 2023
Oct 30, 2023 at 8:29 PM UTC
Control:
Enticing me
I am at your mercy
My delicate nature in need
Bewitching every facet of my being
Command:
Overtake me
Demanding my rapture
Leading me to my submission
Freedom escaping me in this *******
Coalesce:
Ensnaring me
Obedience resolved
Craving the softness of your flesh
The grasp of these restrains enslaves me
Complete:
Liberate me
Promises delivered
This total wonder entangling
Rescuing me with absolute fulfillment
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 2:16 PM UTC
She told me to
"Imagine a safe place",
a quiet place, somewhere to go
when the fog is at my feet.
But everywhere I went was
crowded with doubt
and a lingering loitering
presence on my shoulder,
come out from the fog to
hurl accusations and taunt.
I can only assume
it's a he on my shoulder,
an enigma,
my father's doppelganger
come to dredge my mind
of all the **** he dished out
when I was a child,
and feed it back to me again.
I tell her I'll need more tools
and stronger ideas.
So she gives me a seat at
the head of the table
where my ****** committee meets,
and a gavel to establish order
or bash in their brains.
She arms my dreams
with weapons and courage,
gives me REM when I'm wide awake.
We fashion a furnace of love,
hot enough to vaporize the
cold darkness pouring into my gut,
customized with levers and pulleys
to push and to pull in the fight.
We tally
Alpha and Beta waves,
trained and retrained,
hard coded messages
sanded smooth by repetition.
*Through it all I give too,
and what I give is all I can give,
it is the warmth of what enslaves me,
and the thought of letting it go….
Well.... lets not go there right now.*
In the long run I'm not sure that
any of it will be enough,
I am weakened by the war.
But occasionally there
are shiny spots that simmer,
You see,
I may have found that place,
the place she first told me to find
way back at the beginning,
the place to feel safe, although
it isn't really a place per se.
If it were true
I could finally ascend to
where no fog can go.
Where my father's voice
cannot be heard,
nor the ghosts I grew
up with.
A place of love and honesty,
where my furnace would sit idle in awe.
There is a picture of us
on our bedroom wall.
It is the perfect depiction of
all that is safe for me.
I look at your smile
and I see peace.
Nothing can penetrate
your radiance,
you are everything
I've never had,
double layered and
impenetrable
by all of it.
By all of the ****
I am learning to go there
when the fog is at my feet,
and the ghosts are in my ear.
When the accusations come
I can escape there with you,
and together we can drown them out
if only for a little while.
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 1:39 PM UTC
There is a Cheshire cat with a nefarious nose ring
Who lashes berating riddles, and vernacular that’ll make you cringe
He slithers through abandoned shadows
On dilapidated gravel, and bears a deathly sickle grin
Enticing as he may be, he only wishes to deceive
So be wary of his beguiles, they are hidden underneath his symmetrical smile
Nor give in to the plastic prophecies he preaches
Nothing he teaches will stitch meaning into your ambiguities
For he enslaves your sorrows and siphons your dreams
Leaving you asphyxiated in catatonic screams
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 11:26 PM UTC
102212
Voodoo man you amaze me
With your magic sticks
And honest tricks
You who enslaves
Souls from the grave
Fears with mirrors
Capture love with a bottle
Coins in your pocket
Yet beware of tomorrow
And all her sorrows
Time will not obey
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
Darkness creeps, a heavy, silent shroud,
Enveloping my soul, a mournful cloud.
Frantic, cold, I search drawers wide,
Pills my sole solace, survival's wild ride.
Anti-depressants stare, empty, bare,
Desperation grips, no refuge there.
The nightstand jerks with a forceful sway,
Scattered remains of emptiness lay.
But in the chaos, our feather lies—
Goldfinch quill, a sharp surprise.
Black as night, like my sorrow’s blight,
Yet golden glints hold memories bright.
I sink back, sweat stained silk slides on skin,
Coldness seeps slowly within.
Curled fetal tight, the tears cascade,
A storm that no memory can evade.
Yet memories rise—a forest fair,
Blooming wildflowers scent the air.
Through filtered light, we walked unseen,
Our steps soft under leaves’ green sheen.
She found the feather, bold and slight,
“Look,” she smiled, “it’s our love’s light.”
“Like you,” she laughed, “a fierce gold flame,
Unbroken strength, and spirit’s claim.”
At water's edge, we undulate,
Lips meet, bodies entwine, love creates.
Wet skin tingles, to our feather’s trace,
Legs gently open --
A sweet, secret place.
Reality pulls, the cold seeps through,
Back and *** ache, stiffness breaking through.
Time lost, darkness gathers, depression's sway,
Minutes or hours, endless disarray.
Clutching our feather, memories sweet I breathe,
Yet, beneath love's scent, depression’s blade, unsheathed.
Depression's shadows creep, darkness claims space,
Our feather's comfort, fading grace.
Defeated, armor shed, lace silk unfolds,
Transparent whispers, love told.
Soft stained fabric slides, silk underwear released,
Vulnerability unveiled, depression's dark gold.
Naked, exposed, lying still, curtains closed,
Darkness envelops ----
Weightless, sinking, water's gentle grasp,
Slowly submerged, darkest pass.
Eyes closed, descending, beneath waves,
Depression's undertow, heart enslaves.
Silence --
But through the depths, her whisper calls,
“You are strong, though darkness falls.”
A feather’s grace, love’s healing might,
Even as shadows steal the light.
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 10:23 AM UTC
When I hold you in my arms what do I feel?
Something I cannot express with words.
It is tenderness that warms my heart.
When I’m injured, your warm phrases heal
Every wound that tortures me and hurts,
Every pain that tears my chest apart.
It is happiness that I do not know how
Makes me fly up high and touch the sky,
Makes me smile when I wake up at dawn.
Everything around gets bright somehow,
And I’m sure this feeling will not die.
What’s inside my heart cannot be gone.
It is peace that everybody needs,
Even those who like to live at strife,
Those who very often draw a sword.
And you show me with your words and deeds
That you wholeheartedly want your life
And my life to be in full accord.
It is passion that inflames my flesh,
And sometimes its fire is so strong
That its tongues can even scorch my bones.
Such a heat is able to enmesh
All my heart and body for so long,
That by touching I can melt the stones.
It is love, a gift sent from a star.
And this feeling is so great and pure,
It enslaves our souls and makes them free.
And in love with me you also are,
That is why I am completely sure
That together we are meant to be.
Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 3:17 PM UTC
choices
embrace things
that sickens
enslaves
maims
kills
unbound
yourself
loose
your chains
turn away from
the dungeon
that has
become
your death
chamber
you
alone
crafted
with such
deft skill
you exiled
yourself
hid away
from the living
inhabiting a
convenient
confinement
relishing
the deceitful
pleasures of an
addled mind
a twisted
portrait
of a
shackled
self
living
inside
the
dark abode
of your head
bumping
about in
unmapped
caves
dwelling
in a place
that no one
could find
nor dare
explore
you heap
stones
at the door
providing
your only
means
of escape
safely
entombed
in your
vapid
delusions
a decrepit
graveyard
an abandoned
township
of lonely
sarcophagi
long forgotten
by the
moldering
bodies
of the city's
ghostly
citizens
you reek
with the
stench
of death
you
murdered
yourself
and
became
dead
to us
But
Jesus
wept
over
your
self
denigration
never
forsaking
your favored
condition
The
Good Friend
lifted
you
from
Edens
dust
and
showered
you
with
fine
things
yet
you
found
no joy
in
the gift
of solace
the might
of grace
the balm
of love
the rest
of peace
all
only
heaped
torments
upon
you
your
sisters
wailed
in grief
imploring
The
Resurrector
to make you
whole
he only
shrugs
and
extends
a palm
unloose
the rags
of your
swaddled
grief
unbound
yourself
Lazarus
come out
and walk
amongst
the living
again
put
down your
stones
the hand
is nigh
choose well
my friend
St. Alban's
Bible Study
7/09
jbm
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 10:45 AM UTC
I never fix my room, no, never. On every corner, my books perch, stacks after stacks, like hungry butterflies destined to inhale the delight of only three summer days.
On the chair sleep those clothes I was wearing yesterday, and the day before yesterday, and last Monday and weeks ago, like fallen unremembered friends. It still has the scent of the woman sitting next to me on the bus, beside the window, her fleeting heart and endless readings and the way love flipped between her forefinger and thumb. That was the type of love that not the world could interrupt; not even the hundred years of common existence could contain.
It still has the sound of our broken steps on the pavement, the feel of the scraping wall, the drunken scent of the stranger I ****** with. His skin against my skin, his mouth staining the length of my neck, his hair wrapping my fingers, my breath on his temple, his leg, my leg, his arm, my arm, the stars dancing and our warmth defying the curse of human mortality.
Scattered on the floor were the paintbrushes, unwashed palette, stacks of newspapers I use to cover around my interminable uncertainty. I hear the wall, almost every day, discussing about my inferiority complex, about how it impedes me from creating something original, something infinite, about how it trails behind me, gasping, grabs me from behind, locks me in then eventually enslaves me.
How dare they are to go about the spectrum of these endless wanderings, these filthy fellows who knew so well that I never comb my hair and that I have always, always, hated the boring Murakami.
I never fix my bed, no, never. The propped of my pillow, the uneven creases, they will serve as the living reminder of our final encounter. I must have disarrayed the bed sheet – I cannot remember exactly when –but I have no plan of rearranging the constellations any moment soon.
My blanket swallows me alive, its edges draping on the edge of my bed, sometimes flipping reluctantly, savoring the vacancy of the afternoon, the way the light scars my books, glistens my skin that I have strewn everywhere for the mother of otherness to eat.
Most of the time, in my sheer insanity, I set my room afire.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 11:02 AM UTC
The terrifying teeth chatter into the crimson lips of a wound up smile, chattering along the very risen table top that draws all small toys to their finite dooms. While breaths sour hour upon hour, each idling ear suffocates the last gasping breaths of its epicurean syllabic tongue, drizzling down the stomach like melt water from a cubic glacier in an ornamental silver tub, and sternly quibbles the stem-like dactyls drawing rose champagne into a fissure of the brain's tumescent humming.
Each finger tips' nail rouge and red, each dry crevice sewn into the knuckles, and a leaflet on sadism near the scratchy illegible lines whittled on the topside of the wrists and the slalom runs of the ankle. The ankle sinister. The ghost-like hallow sockets of where eyes could have once be seen. Plaster and albicant-like dying death white skins forbade from the Flushing streets where the jazz dance once began. And with each nellypotted hop, three useless nuisances could not carry the bridle towards each nearly favorite sound that curiosity enslaved man to lean towards.
The women weirded out by corners, plastic-wrapped furniture in outdoor corridors, where sinners veil their retreats into state run triage centers. Fake plastic countertops built from fake plastic trees. With an M14's muzzle stiffening and shuttering, she who vents off her cured romances will always find herself flaccid on rubber knees. The disease of the plea, is once more an affectation of not falling for royalty but instead the royal we. There is this weapon of fraud that perplexes geneticists, that enslaves heterosexuals, where albeit nor the time or place, she venerates the libations that her mind creates, she lubricates her cells, dressing, her skin ripening, heaven trickling across her humble nape, where gentleness is only a fool's disease and need.
She. We. Heathens of eternity bowing our breaths in grand hyperbole see. I see she, and she sees me.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC
I see her in the morning.
I think of her in the night.
And all the hours in between,
She enslaves my very sight.
Her shiny black hair
Is like silky waves of night.
Her deep blue eyes
Are portals of mysterious light.
Her smile is magnificent.
Her teeth are always glimmering.
Her body is phenomenal.
Her laughter is always ringing.
She has a corner office.
I have a corner store.
I await the moment every morning
When she opens up my door.
She is perfect
In every single way.
All she has to do
Is everything I say.
She's married with children.
I'm single with none.
She seems so intense,
But maybe she's the one.
She'll be here soon.
What do I do?
I've absolutely, positively
Fallen for Sue!
I'm a fool!
I've fallen into a trap.
Help me find my way.
Can you lend me a map?
She is intoxicating.
She's out of her mind.
She follows me home
And tries to be kind.
She rearranges my furniture.
She decorates my house.
She adores this little puppy
That looks like a mouse.
She whispers and gossips
And whistles and prances.
She sends everyone into
Their own kind of trances.
She tasted better
Than Blueberry wine.
But she sure did crush
This little heart of mine.
Written by: Andrew D. Robertson
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
How unprepared I was when midnight approached me by
Emission of vivid green neon lights
From the futuristic skyscrapers to my unworldly eyes
But more imposing
A suspended meteor in the sky
Upon the decrepit city which never stood
My arrival at Midnight City, my peculiar neighborhood
Thumping tracks and frantic sirens
Bombard tremendous fear in my senses
Amid the resonating pantomime that cracks throughout my head
Merciless cyborgs arrive from nowhere
And threaten mankind with unthinkable weapons
Their bleak empty eyes bring dogmatic order
As my escalated fears enslave me well
Inside the mechanical serpent that darts
With endless slick demented rails
On such a twisted mind, it begins to run
Confused and addled, I have no control of this matter
Only worries dwell my mind
The arrival of this mysterious force is my greatest baffle
Does this herald the degeneration of Gaia?
What is this complex machinery that enslaves all men?
Where does this designate human posterity and fate?
What was done for an act of retribution?
Does this unprecedented apocalypse null all human solutions?
In this dark tunnel, on a decrepit couch
The dauntless train begins to screech with endless laughter
As it tears tempestuously faster and faster
Until all unearthly fluorescent lights blend together
Thumping tracks and frantic sirens
Eighty-six notches louder
Alternating flashes of red and green
Fourteen seconds prior
A silhouette of a white demon projects from afar
As it begins to approach us, its image ever becomes so bizarre
Add a second of suspended silence of jest
Before we scream and ensue
The fatal crash
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
I light my cigar, from whence comes the nicotine
That blackens my lungs and poisons my blood
But the taste of it becomes a sensational feeling,
A satisfaction to my nicotine enslaved wind-pipe
A huge urge to take it again and again
One after another
An addiction that enslaves me.
I light my cigar, from whence comes the nicotine
That keeps me company all day and night long
An enemy I cherish and revere
That shortens my days and nights in disguise
One after another
An addiction that takes away my own life.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
Comedy
---
We laugh at the pain all around
Trying
(So hard!)
Not to
FEEL
••
Shadows move but if we don't look up ............(?)
••
If we keep our eyes firmly fixed in the gutter ...:...(?)
••
Maybe we won't see the eyes of mister death.........(?)
••
•
Shall I write a poem about an imaginary lover ?
Should I tell you of my imaginary suffering when I imagined that she left me & broke my imaginary heart?
Then you can imagine that you are sensitive
You can imagine that you feel my pain
You can turn me on to your imaginary god
••
The PIG FARM OF AMERIKKKA
Enslaves us completely
••
The pain it produces is not imaginary
Nor is the love needed to overcome
••
If you'd be honest I would meet you anywhere
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
He manipulate his friends
and eliminate his enemies by
his cunning craftiness.
And he thinks he has won.
He cries wolf before he falls.
There's a mountain between us,
and he can never be like you
for he is darned.
He is not worthy of your friendship.
He belongs to the circle
of the dreaded assassins,
head of the herdsmen,
their creed is deep,
terrible and terrifying indeed.
Fear the one that is horribly terrifying
for he is after your life.
How does this whole thing landed
within you and what shifted as a result.
Run for your life,
he will not have mercy.
Wickedness is wrought in him.
The gull of bitterness and
hatred surrounds him.
He will be consumed by the same
fire he has set.
There's no freedom for the
one who enslaves anyone,
his weakness is made manifest
for he is a coward.
Professing to hate corruption,
he fights it with a slack hand,
and a lying tongue,
a deceiver not to be trusted.
He eats corruption as a bread of sorrow.
Woven around him as a spiders web,
he seeks destruction for the naive
as well as the elite.
The one who cannot publicly address you
but only through another to get
his messages across to those
he proclaimed to rule,
hiding behind the iron curtain,
surrounded by deadly killers.
Never will he rule again even as a
weakling that he is.
He will woefully fail as always,
for he is not knowledgeable and
has no good plans for you.
Wished he's smart enough to see
how dumb he is.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 8:11 AM UTC
Such deep animosity
I had that
I strongly disliked everything
I was also apprehensive, incompatible, implacable and timid
I had no condulences
In that time in my life
I was caged
Locked into a world
Forced to live a life
I did not want to live
But now I am free
And I shall soar of the wings of an eagle
Until darkness enslaves me
And then in that moment
I will turn to ash
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
A calm sensation
enslaves me,
soothing my mind
and warming my heart.
For in little time
i will disappear,
easily forgetting
the mundane
regimentation
of daily living.
Light fades
and a mystic shroud of
darkness
fills my sight.
No cares,
no worries,
only the peace
my soul
desires.
Floating on a
manufactured cloud
of comfort;
I finally
slip away
from reality,
and begin another
glorious session,
of sleep.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC