"exacerbating" poems
fuel desperation,
and so are valuable
assets in the game
of spinning chambers.
one ***** is all it takes.
you might not believe
a person still wading
through adolescence
could harbor such
malevolent intent.
one slight is all it takes.
age is barely even
a consideration when
haunted by the desire
for revenge or need
of self-preservation.
one fragile moment is all it takes.
fewer years simply
equate to shallower
perspective, exacerbating
youthful impulsivity.
one bullet is all it takes.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 12:40 PM UTC
Gaining wisdom,
Listening to Mos Def
Not to be boxed in by the quadrant of the bass clef,
Because I like the melodies of the treble.
If Eye am to live a life to be confined, then call me a rebel.
Letting out all that was repressed
Counting blessings instead of stresses
Picking up messes &
Preparing for the test
To invest in myself,
in you
~
Diving below the depths to see what's true~
The interest accrues
But there's no use -
in paying these taxes to factions
When they should be subtracted from the equation
For exacerbating trivial situations
til we see the answer is One
You have the control, a full mind\body/soul collaboration
Sort out ya chakras and rebuild your nation
Plant seeds and reverse the deforestation
Let creativity fill your wounds and be captivated by fascination
Follow your own soul
Guided by sensation
Close your eyes and breathe, if ya need, some quick elation
...Away from frustration or the contemplation on the
"right" choice.
Just share your innermost genuine voice,
Keep the soil moist,
& the stem strong in order to stay poised
Lose the armor
For you are formless
In a state of vulnerability,
We are never dormant
But rather, open to the occupants
that we can't even see
Let your heart explode with love and you'll know what it's like to be free.
Don't open up though, and we'll be doomed to repeat
Be not afraid to call upon the Youniverse
Disperse what you rehearsed
before your vessel is within another in the confines of a hearse.
Weird to hear, but we can't wait for one more day.
It could be anyone's last grain of sand,
So by all means,
Say what you have to say~
You have a gift,
& It's called the present
Living with the ability to lift,
and make others' lives pleasant.
Muster every ounce of love and drift,
Right into another's essence
You hold the power in your hands, reach out~
..You'll never go hungry..
Giving vital lifeforce to those experiencing drought
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
Morphine & Cola, Mrs. I can't believe I told you this is, so exacerbating I Can't sleep; even this weather riles inside me as we weep. There wasn't Anything that'd have shown you. There hasn't been a single sprout of Showmanship, or the erstwhile philanthropy that needers' raise their Eyebrows to and to. This is the degree we know it. The subtle afterglow With everything that you've known, and while the snow settles on your Window sill. While winter rime binds its ice to the wheat, and every soft Little seedling sewn, whispers its final sentences before autumn while it Drifts itself to sleep. There were the cards and the faces of Jacks among Aces, places uplifted by China dishes of porcelain overflowing, like Tencel in socks, woven into the pockets of trousers. Where does the Mischief go while it certainly isn't ours, and the dandy light across your Temple bares a gleam.
Some things are enriching, but yet too sordid to stare at. While the game Is enriching, the pain is too much to bear, and whether in vain or ********** the likes of you, make these lips of mine much softer against Your finger tips. Tips of fingers, petals of flowers, baskets of fresh bread Baked with wheat flour- follow the noon bird, fancy a sit by a brook, and Listen for the whistle-less, whistling of a rook.
Grey is quite golden too. Like the same tencel that I've used, or the silken Web treated to a loom, like lightning bugs out for an early dance on the Afternoon. Seldom as moss on sidewalk path or the pangs of laughing Heart at mass. What does the new bird bring? The bride of this coming Spring? For every sugarcube we taste, we save ourselves from second Base. Dr. Narrod with a gentle touch, the inspection you love so much. The gentle morsels smoothed upon the hand. The girl-like woman with Her ewe-like lamb. "For all of you who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. For all of those who wanted them 808s, can you feel that ************* bass. I like the way you move."
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 10:45 AM UTC
The repetitive sunset strikes again,
Seeking to withold all the power from within.
Striking without pity,
It beholds the truth silently through its benevolent fiery.
Yet alone it will not taunt,
As it requires an army to persuade its almighty flaunt.
One alone may not fight this war,
As the sunset will strike again and dissipate the power from afar.
Exacerbating all its forces upon the person,
Igniting a flame so passionately fortressed.
Vengeance may arise to the unforeseen eye,
Subtlety making its way through barriers once denied.
All throughout the tenacious journey,
One will realize the reality in obscurity.
Elucidating the truth as it becomes prevalently set.
One will wake up and become the sunset that was once a threat.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
maybe i'm just exacerbating everything
i don't know if this sadness is real
this social anxiety
this fear
this never-ending ******* fear
i just want to get away from it all
get lost in someplace beautiful
someplace safe and someplace good
someplace i can call my home
when will this struggle ever end?
do you think our hearts get stronger?
do you believe there's something beautiful
on the other side of the fence?
my faith exists
but so does fear
and constantly they wrestle in my mind
and sometimes the voices in my head
just won't shut up
i believe there's something good out there
life ***** sometimes, i know, i know, i know
but hope is more powerful than anything i've ever felt
so i guess the struggle will end
and our hearts get stronger
and there's something beautiful
on the other side of the fence
i don't know how and i don't know why and i don't know when
but i believe it'll get better,
and for now that's more than enough for me.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
the sentimental death wish as i think of your dark flowing hair in the gusty winter midnight sky makes me think of my frivolous existence i look to the somber night for quandaries of life love and happiness i find the moon light exacerbating the adulation of those dead light brown eyes yet with such a effervescent nature to those dark dreary eyes my voice sprouts out infatuation comments words to memorize then i lose myself in the sudden chill of the night i forget my judgement in the brilliance of the morning sunset the beginning of a brilliant love the beginning of something graceful graceful as the first blooming of a flower during the dawn of spring yet still clinging to the harshness of the winters chill.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
I don't know what I am doing here.
At least I feel safe, for the moment.
This seat is warm from my heat.
They are talking but I do not know them.
I am lost in my own exhausted world.
I never knew how well the word malaise fit me.
This private access to your face stays upon my lap.
It is feeding from the outlet in the wall.
I am only exacerbating my addiction.
I am addicted to your face.
Your beautiful, careless face.
It makes me sick, but I can't resist.
What am I doing here?
I'm uncomfortable within my own skin.
I'm itching for a way out from the inside.
Spiders are stepping gracefully upon my veins.
I'm swimming in nausea.
My eyes are shifting to and fro.
My head is the worst of it all.
These thoughts of you are eating me alive.
Because I'm not supposed to be
thinking of you.
I should be thinking
of him;
but when had we decided we
were in love?
He assumed, I'm sure.
I don't remember ever discussing it.
And you.
Look at you assuming things
just like he has.
But I don't care to tell you
you're wrong
because
you're right.
You remind me of that boy;
the one who smelled
sweet
in the summer time.
Immature and
out of sync --
I pretended to love
all that he was.
I hate to say it to myself,
but you remind me of him
sometimes.
The way you laugh and the way
you act
throws me into terrible
recollections
of days best forgotten.
And yet,
Here I am searching for
your blue eyes and
your left handed scribble
and
that mess of brown hair--
characteristics of every man
I've really loved--
and that scruff you call a beard,
black shirts and forced smiles.
I'm aching for your voice
mumbling incoherently into my hair;
aching for your arms,
warm and strong
and soporific; aching for
your lips
warm and sweet
pressed against mine,
as they were that one night
upon the dance floor:
quick and only once
but enough to make me cry.
I'm only making things
worse for myself.
I'm barely getting along in this house--
I've run out of things to do
and things to say
and things to think
to myself,
yet I sit still here
imitating your presence before
me, telling myself
it's only so long
until Saturday.
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 5:58 PM UTC
Some people say that they hate the world and everyone on it.
One question...
Do you hate me?
Some might not reply.
Some might tell me to mind my business
And some will say yes
And those who say yes
One question: How?
How can you hate me when you never met me?
How can you hate me when you haven't got to know me?
They'll reply "Oh, all of you are alike."
No
No, we all aren't alike
You use that as an excuse
Not to get to know anyone
To wallow in your hate.
A hate based on ignorance
Cause its easy to hate
Easy to be ignorant
But its hard to forgive.
To understand.
You think you know me
But you don't
You never took the time to get to know me
If you did, you'd never say the things you say
You've been hurt, I know
That doesn't mean you shouldn't pick yourself back up
And you can't blame everyone
You know you don't hate everyone
You're just angry and confused
So you lash out at everyone
Exacerbating the problem.
You don't want to take the time to know people
That's the problem
We're full of hate
So we remain distant
Hostile
Suspicious
Afraid
We're too scared to move past our normal lifestyles
Our normal lifestyles of hate and ignorance
We're too scared to change.
Because we don't know what to do afterwards.
After the hate is gone.
Because hate is what we've been raised to grasp.
Hate is what we've been taught to accept.
That nothing could be done to lessen it.
So the hate continues.
Some will criticize me for saying this.
Some will ignore me for saying this.
Some will ridicule me for saying this.
And some will listen to me
And change....
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 11:55 AM UTC
To my dismay my palate has acquired a taste for those who seem to have the heart of a lion. I detect my tenacious affections towards you early. This is daunting for us both. We do not share the same list of apprehensions. I suppose it is your fortitude and influence that sustains my interest so.
I know the heart of a lion is a delicacy that i can not stomach I must have a courageous allure to feel starved. I observe without scrutiny while i wait in line for you.
It wont be long until I will find myself effortlessly making an apology on your behalf.
Your precarious, impregnable ways will be exacerbating. My harmless devotion will alarm you, in turn you will deny my intentions.
I will try and swallow your heart whole in an attempt to feel you. I will expect nothing less than to be left praying to the porcelain god. I would have forgotten about your parsimonious generosity. Your charm is passionate but I will still call you up on your weaknesses in the mighty shape of a lioness. You will feel wounded and indulge in the pleasures of your mothers nectar to soothe your uneasiness . You do what you have to do, do it, do it.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 2:22 PM UTC
***** and Violated
I lay willingly.
Naked, on the floor
drenched in the sweat
of past anxieties.
Breathing for the first time
without choking on a chafing inhale
of exacerbating suppression of my own entity.
i lay peeled.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 2:21 AM UTC
Bruno
he trims a Cuban cigar and places it in his anti-authoritarian orifice:
Foreshadowing the mysteries of life brings the succulent cauldrons of mystical salaciousness to a boiling ardor. I’ll entice the myriad realms of your enchantress and wring the moisture out of your femininity. I’ve got a cat of nine tails in my hands- I dare you to stroke me, you sassy ***** just so you may know my obeisant oblations orchestrations. No other woman moves me like the feral ***** you employ.
Caspian
Choreographed katas supplement his beast.
He’s adamant and masculine, and plucks the strings of his guitar in anticipation of your ****** harmonies. Pounce firmly on his erotica erectile like the black panther of his lust’s rebellion. Caress the protuberance of his virility- mount his exsertion- hair on hair- wanton on wayward- peal him slowly with your agile ictus- he’s ambrosia and honey- extort the fecundity out of him and give it back like a fertile libation.
Roland
He’s like a Mayan calendar. Excruciatingly exacerbating, imperturbably tenacious. He’ll draw the sport out of you and make you bounce like a cowgirl on a bronco. Only to buck you off and leave you in the dust like a flaccid martyr on the ground he tramples. You’ll reminisce his wily gate where ever you tread, and ****** yourself at the thought of his machismo machinations as you rode his determinism.
Sol
His exotic lightning vaunts in the celestial canopy. The blood of new world wizardry, he seduces from the apex axis of his citadel pinnacle. His warrior heights ooze with the psychic clarity of zoomorphic demagoguery’s rebellion and make the knight groan with exigency. The weight of his words, the upward convection of their accessional draws sweat and *** from your extant. He can sense your arousal from miles away and seduces your mind like a torrential deluge.
Richthofen
He is manumission, no more the faded vision of body incarnates ghosts. He writes of the enrapturing mesmeric-ness of its inebriation to tantalize his wanton decadent blatancy’s flagrant. Impetus intrigue and intuitional verve become sensual currency. He’s the lounging lion, the puissant God, the edifice ******** of pornographic wit. The incongruous incognito with no moniker. Seduced by your poet he would romance the *** out of you and leave you enraptured with your own anonymity at the edge of the new world freeway.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 11:40 AM UTC
Though not at fault, I sing apologies
Seeking clemency through melodious songs and broken symphonies
These hands cannot concoct the needed remedies
And are notorious for exacerbating tragedies
We traversed a single road and at the divarication
A duet of goodbyes signaled the shifting of attention
The surroundings committed an aberration
Yielding you years of consistent tribulations
Enigmatic is how the unpredictable universe shall eternally operate
To its oscillating desires, the hands of time convulate
I deem us victims of it and its partner, mischievous fate
When the world slowed down for you, they made mine accelerate
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
“Our government teaches the whole people by its example. If the government becomes the lawbreaker, it breeds contempt for law; it invites every man to become a law unto himself; it invites anarchy.”- Louis D. Brandeis.
Beware of the uncivilized nation
Where mighty green reigns wildly,
And morals are for the most part ignored,
Corporations won't hesitate to betray you.
Waging a war means increased wages,
Take care, the army will shoot you.
A woman's work is worth less,
"Aliens"are manipulated for cheap labor.
Give the wealthy power
Over the poverty of the weak.
*Why are we so prone to
commercialized, cultural conditioning*?
Debt takes away all freedom.
Keep us in debt
To keep us under your control.
Modern day slavery,
Crown Capitalism the king and master.
Get it, Master Card?
Supported by a fickle impostor
Dressed in robes known as democracy.
The cruel system is designed to
Prolong and maintain already existing problems,
Often exacerbating them,
Even creating new conflicts.
The schools uphold the system,
Student is code for automaton.
Criminal is code for prison's big business.
Through it all, pillage the planet,
Divide, conquer, then destroy everything in your wake,
As if it's the main mission of some diabolical plan.
*I don't blame the new student in my class,
Long years ago, who didn't stand up
During the pledge of allegiance.*
Originally written 3/29/11
Revised 10/17/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
I twist the black plastic button
sewn on my dark gray coat
I suddenly sit up and take note
Of the patients dragging around
Their listless, drone expressions
I ignore them all and stare straight on
A world that is mundane and colorless
I don't want to be trapped here
I want to go where
At night, I stretch my legs out with disregard
of whether I will bump into another person
Where the soft golden glow of the lamp
is way better than the fluorescent lights
Where solitude is bliss and not
hellish screams of my brother's baby at night
Where the soft covers caress my bruises
instead of the white sheets exacerbating
Home sweet home
is where my heart truly rests,
at peace with my body mind and soul
Where my violin sits on the chair
My clarinet on the wooden desk
My music stand staying tall, waiting
for me to look at it once more
I will return soon, don't worry
my sore, lonely, dejected
Home hungry heart
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 7:57 PM UTC
Bruno
he trims a Cuban cigar and places it in his anti-authoritarian orifice:
Foreshadowing the mysteries of life brings the succulent cauldrons of mystical salaciousness to a boiling ardor. I’ll entice the myriad realms of your enchantress and wring the moisture out of your femininity. I’ve got a cat of nine tails in my hands- I dare you to stroke me, you sassy ***** just so you may know my obeisant oblations orchestrations. No other woman moves me like the feral ***** you employ.
Caspian
Choreographed katas supplement his beast.
He’s adamant and masculine, and plucks the strings of his guitar in anticipation of your ****** harmonies. Pounce firmly on his erotica erectile like the black panther of his lust’s rebellion. Caress the protuberance of his virility- mount his exsertion- hair on hair- wanton on wayward- peal him slowly with your agile ictus- he’s ambrosia and honey- extort the fecundity out of him and give it back like a fertile libation.
Roland
He’s like a Mayan calendar. Excruciatingly exacerbating, imperturbably tenacious. He’ll draw the sport out of you and make you bounce like a cowgirl on a bronco. Only to buck you off and leave you in the dust like a flaccid martyr on the ground he tramples. You’ll reminisce his wily gate where ever you tread, and ****** yourself at the thought of his machismo machinations as you rode his determinism.
Sol
His exotic lightning vaunts in the celestial canopy. The blood of new world wizardry, he seduces from the apex axis of his citadel pinnacle. His warrior heights ooze with the psychic clarity of zoomorphic demagoguery’s rebellion and make the knight groan with exigency. The weight of his words, the upward convection of their accessional draws sweat and *** from your extant. He can sense your arousal from miles away and seduces your mind like a torrential deluge.
Richthofen
He is manumission, no more the faded vision of body incarnates ghosts. He writes of the enrapturing mesmeric-ness of its inebriation to tantalize his wanton decadent blatancy’s flagrant. Impetus intrigue and intuitional verve become sensual currency. He’s the lounging lion, the puissant God, the edifice ******** of pornographic wit. The incongruous incognito with no moniker. Seduced by your poet he would romance the *** out of you and leave you enraptured with your own anonymity at the edge of the new world freeway.
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
I live with a perpetual companion
An unremitting voice in my head
An amensalistic association
This parasite and I are wed
Not by choice are we inseparable
God knows I've tried to break free
It's constant conditionings of the past
That binds this enemy to me
A chameleon that drains my color
Armed with a tongue spitting and sharp
She dominates my conversations
From morning till noon till dark
Upon the urge to be true to myself
To break free from this mimicking mime
She ridicules, rants and berates me
Until I loose all sense of time
If I grant the power she incessantly seeks
And obey her exacerbating needs
A suicide of sorts slowly takes place
Leaving an empty reflection of me
If I choose to not give her authority
(Which only infuriates her more)
And I start to rewire the pathway she's on
No longer will she bang at my door!
But the question that's left remaining
Will I be okay left on my own?
a companion like she, omitted from me,
Will undoubtedly prove I'm alone.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:53 AM UTC
my chest kills in heaving beats tommy-gunning-for
an enveloping ringing without ear plugs in the maddening
murdering manipulating ever-exacerbating
well we ripple grains from the walls for the newness of a Spring’s
retention-of not the express delivery of an immaculate conception
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
I (vile syllable!) asked for this,
True. My goal was never bliss,
Though I would be hard pressed now
To determine exactly what or who
And by what means, how,
Exactly, I did in fact expect from you.
I asked for the sword, to bleed
When you became my only need;
Or did you? There’s the rub, ay.
You have put me to confusion,
Compounded by my propensity to lie
(Only ever to myself). O, Illusion!
Did I ever in fact enter the mystery
Or have I only recast history?
Have I been duped? If so,
It is surely you who have done
It. But, I have allowed you,
You’ve already, finally, won.
The pain of doubt doubles
And again, exacerbating troubles
In proportion to the gravity
Of the thing doubted;
Is there a secret depravity
That I, ignorant, have not outed?
You know, and I do not.
There is a heavy, smothering, hot
Cloud of thundering sadness
Here, in my secret heart.
As ever, to discover gladness
Is beyond the scope of my poor art.
But, to stop is death,
And so we march on, weeping,
Forward, with every haggard breath
Recalling at least that we’re alive
The fog may yet clear, dear heart
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 10:51 AM UTC
I remember when I was young and beautiful,
And they were young and beautiful as well,
Each to her own right,
Possessing herself in herself and projecting herself as she thought she was.
Dancing in the light of low bars,
The Xmas lights twinkling blindly,
Only exacerbating the darkness,
Those two souls were trying to escape.
Can you take the dare and look when no one is looking?
Can you hear the shouting of Sheol in the whispers of the Saints?
She told me she was taking the job,
That I had told her to go for,
We knew the inevitable was inevitable,
And we consoled ourselves with the platitudes of promises meant for forever.
Forever never came,
But we still talk, we laugh, we cling to what was, what is,
A spark that flies upward,
Only to settle upon the ember of the bed of coals that makes us.
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
I stare at the mirror and spew profanities at myself
It is utterly unbelievable that I am in such a state
Resisting the urge to grab the nearest pen and paper
And let the ebony ink stain the alabaster surface
Hundreds of days have passed since I've sworn to the skies
I've sworn to the skies that I will never again write
I've sworn that I will never again waste words on you
I will never again waste any sort of figure of speech on you
But sharp nails are piercing through my palms
The only relief for the exacerbating pain
Is making your name bleed through a pen's tip
******* it
I abhor how feeble I am against it
I abhor how feeble I am when it comes to you
I paraded the streets with such a cocky, domineering gait
But after all this time, I remain a slave of the past
I was a slave willing to sink on my knees for you
I still remain a slave, but now a slave with a mind
A slave who knows what's the best for himself
A slave embracing the freedom but glancing back at the binding shackles
I curse at myself in front of the mirror
Because after all this time, you can still put me in a trance
Your eyes still looked the same, breathtaking
And the beauty of your smile still captivates me
I slam my fist on the mirror as I curse myself
And curse myself yet again for cursing you but struggling
Struggling as I painstakingly swallow words of love
Words of love that I had for you, that I still have for you
Yet again I slam my fist against the broken mirror
It's a self-reminder about the fate of my heart in your hands
You have delicate hands with a penchant for destruction
It's the perfect time for you to meet your match
How I wish your heart ends up like mine
I wish that your smiles turn into hot tears
And that his affectionate words turn into sugary guillotine
I wish that his feverish kisses burn your fair skin
And I wish his every whisper of promise will dissipate into thin air
But I know that even if your heart breaks
Your suffering will not heal my wounds
Know that I do not wish for you to return to my arms
And as I sink down onto the ground
As my bare knees press against the shattered glass
I wish for you to hear me:
I just don't want to suffer alone.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
The constant reminder that our loved ones are gone.
Visiting their graves and placing flowers you bought on Amazon.
Realizing past problems that people never put their focus on.
It’s just an excuse to remember someone that has been withdrawn.
A physical phenomenon that keeps opening past wounds.
Feelings that people try to keep in, but still get loose.
Its repetitive and sad to tell you the truth.
Will it ever go away?
Ding, ding, ding. The alarm in my head rings.
Caution ahead. Dangerous feelings.
Prepare to get hit by sadness and other emotions.
It will end soon. Your mind is in the process of erosion.
A woeful fate with a caustic tone.
The mortality paradox without a doubt, well-known.
The charming idiosyncrasy of our loved ones,
Carved nicely in their granite gravestones.
The focus of death at all, ruins the day.
Exacerbating the situation, digging a grave.
Warning signs popping up like ads. Stop. Stop. Stop!
Just please stop and go away! Everything is better without it, okay!
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 2:32 PM UTC
ECT
In this moment I feel as if I am falling,
Into a prison from nowhere,
I see my shadow arabesque as
I watch my reflection appear
In a river of never abating madness-
Hiding from all that is real,
Moments have passed since I lay upon
A cold metal table,
Drifting off to sleep, and
Upon awakening-
I remember nothing, except for
The sensation of falling
From nowhere into nothingness-
As I watch the sun rising,
Outside of a picture window,
I find myself alive in some different place in time.
I feel my heart pounding
As is it were trying to escape
From a prison of iron bars inside of my chest, as
My brain spins about
As it were riding a horse on a merry-go –round,
It’s motor somehow
Rapidly accelerating
As that horse bobs up and down
Exacerbating my fear-
I hear myself screaming
In the midst of deadly silence-
The sun has now risen high over the mountains outside.
Within my utmost fantasies,
I am climbing my own mountain,
Hoping to reach the sky although
I cannot escape that merry-go-round of terror-
Except that I know now
I cannot hide from all that is real,
I shall never touch the sky and as
I find myself falling off of this make believe mountain-
I can see my shadow more clearly and
As I fall into a river of my fantasies,
I swim to the bank of this river from nowhere,
Leaving the madness behind-
Claudia Krizay
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
For long,
We have looked to the heavens,
Our necks are now stiff,
For long,
We have kneeled to pray,
Our knees can no longer stretch,
For long,
We have hoped it to happen,
But for long,
It has just been exacerbating,
Others have even prayed,
For his demise,
How much longer,
Will it take,
How much longer,
Are we still going to suffer,
At the hands of this monster President,
How long Lord.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 5:48 AM UTC
Gripped by fright
A full-scale fight
Could once more breakout
At any moment be it
Day or night,
The cousins Ethiopia
And Eritrea
Were beefing up
Their military might
Locked in a border dispute
Exacerbating border
Inhabitants' plight.
For long,
Leaders of the horn
And the international community
Had been observing developments agog
Forced to tune
To the cacophonous war song
"In military prowess
I am the one strong!
A rabbit, I will hack you
Like a feral dog! "
In such shows of force
There was not
Squandered not resource,
Which could feed
Innumerable needy, of course.
In a paradigm shift
"Among siblings
If reign supreme must
Considerateness and peace,
For a border dispute
There is no room please.
Let us build a bridge
Not a wall
Towards common growth
The strife-ridden Horn
Must get on the ball.
True to the court's
Binding verdict,
President Isaias
Take Bademe as a gift.
To the confluence
Adding up
Is the new roadmap! "
"Thank you Prime Minister
DR Abiy
If love and developmental
****** are entailed
In the roadmap
Rest assured,
I will accord
Your gesture
Thumps up.
Yes, we have to leave
Divide and rule
For the fool!
If the horn
Is to get on the ball
Add up must all"
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 3:59 AM UTC