"hostage" poems
People often ask me what love is
And I seriously don't know what it means
All I can think about is you
Your eyes, those brown eyes
Those eyes which saw me naked
You saw every scar on my body
Yet the only thing you said was
“You are beautiful”
Love, I am not beautiful
Scars, stretch marks, blood, wounds
Doesn't mean beautiful
I am not an art
Yet your lips kissed me
The way the sun kissed my skin every morning
Without a fail, without any doubt
You smiled.
And the only words that came to my mind was
**** this is trouble"
My love, your words hold me like a hostage
Trapped inside an empty box, finding a way out.
A way I can never ever get a glimpse of.
I knew that this love
Our love would last a lifetime
Or so I thought
We were torn apart by hatreds, insecurities, confusions
Maybe if it wasn't for distance
We would be still together, we could have worked it out
But maybe, no matter what decisions we'll make
We will still come to an end
Confused about the future
Insecure about other people
Hating each other
You, giving up
And me, craving for more
Craving for something that can fill up the hole inside my chest
I wanted you to stay forever, here beside me
But every time I would ask about it
You always said
"You deserve so much more"
You were once my everything
My other half
My partner in crime
You were someone so freaking important to me
You were the kind of mistake, I wouldn't mind repeating
I fell so hard for you
And guess what happened?
Love, I am broken
How many days, months, years
For me, to forget
That once upon a time
You were here
I was there
Hands holding tighter
Eyes locked to each other
Hearts that beat in a synchronizing manner
How much would it cost?
For the pain to stop
For the memories to abandon
For the feelings to fade
My love, I did not expect any of this
I didn't know that love can be deadly
A love that can force someone to commit suicide
That loving someone means tearing every part of yourself
Now, do you think I'm suicidal?
Love, do not be afraid
I'm not going to die
Being suicidal doesn’t mean killing yourself
Suicidal means I wouldn't mind dying
I kept on dying anyway
I kept on dying at the same place I thought was giving life to me
Because the day, you decided to give up on me
I already gave up on myself.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
I have missed
out on the thrills
of being a soft place
between a rock
and a hard place
which is a bad boy
I was afraid
of becoming a toy
a welcome mat,
stepped on repeatedly
covered in dirt
and worthlessness
because of fear
I found myself
held hostage to boring love
with good guys
who in the end
only proved
to be ugly lies
which led
to my beautiful cries
in the end,
I should have taken my chances
with the handsome devils
who were at least good at dancing!
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
He loved her and she loved him
His kisses ****** out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she ******
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and Sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy place
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His word were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assasin's attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
Her glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon's gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
17.6k
The worst part about falling
is not when you hit the bottom.
Not getting back up after the fall.
Not when you have to let go,
Not when you have to move on.
The worst part about falling
is knowing that you are slipping.
Knowing you are slipping, deep down
into a pit of demons and despair.
Knowing you are breaking.
Knowing you will be held hostage
by the devil inside you.
Knowing you need help,
but when you finally cry out,
no one is there to save you.
And you just have to allow yourself to fall.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 9:36 PM UTC
The overripe mango that sits promptly on my desk stares at me through its one eye, indignantly asking to be eaten – before it goes bad.
I consider, strongly, the mango’s proposition.
Contemplating the level of hunger, or desire I have for this demanding piece of fruit.
It may be that the latte I just finished burnt off any remaining taste buds I have, or it may be that I find
something amusing about holding a mango hostage of its pride – but I just can’t eat it.
A once firm, confident specimen edging ever closer to becoming a wrinkly, seeping, sack of rotten juice.
Knowingly, I chain it to its fate by refusing to slice the skin back and swallow its sweetness.
It demands to be mutilated rather than aged.
As I sit here writing of my hostage, it continues to stare through its eye – spiting me.
Cursing me with future putrid fruit, with worms in my apples, and with brown bananas.
Oh, how I hate brown bananas.
This mango has learnt well in the time it’s spent in my room, it knows my weaknesses.
I always knew that fruit had character, but this mango – I tell you, it’s something else.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 9:10 PM UTC
He doesn't deserve this.
As the cuts on my wrists turn to scars,
his hands itch for the nearest blade;
as I lie in my bed, my pillow dry for the first time,
his pillow absorbs his tears and reminds him of his nightmares;
as I get 6 hours of sleep,
he lies awake afraid of the silence
6:00 am, he no longer needs an alarm clock.
***As I get better
he gets worse.***
My demon ****** the life out of me and moved on to him.
I wish to rid my demon off his back;
everyday I see my demon drain him;
like a hostage forced to watch it's torment,
hands bound,
gagged mouth,
mascara stained cheeks.
He doesn't deserve this.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 8:27 AM UTC
hey handsome with african features that brought me home
i used you for what its worth. hearts that never twined togather
kissing you was a pleasure of mine. growing weak with every moment
loving you never experienced. *** with you was me comparing
hey handsome with african features that brought me home
confused wanting to trust, love. as i try to let go only pushed you further
we held each other hostage that night your hands touched my soul
hey handsome with african features that brought me home
its good bye for now until the stars line up and you are found
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
any wrong you want done right
the long way...
unforgettable things
you write down
just in case ?
then you know everything about me.
not a thing. not a clue. what i'd do
for a glimpse
of a page.
that's what you like
that's your kick
won't you be mine
all mine
by page
six
?
It's Elementary My Dear, Hostage.
It is What It Is.
any wrong you want done right
all day
won't you bring me 'The List'
like a bad
little
girl ?
and won't you insist ?
my good
little
angel ?
won't you fall ? Again ?
but This time
only inches ?
And your answer
same as before
"Elementary my Dear, Hostage"
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 2:15 PM UTC
There’s a gun upon my bed
Not the kind made of metal
A vivid tattoo color
Above my lover’s
Secret devil
And that gun is like a demon
Aimed toward her pleasure zone
Urging hunters to take a shot
And take the trophy
Home
I see blood upon the doorstep
I smell ****** in her fold
I fear ghosts will haunt her body
In the bullets I have sown
I hear hungry infants crying
The ones she gave away
And the ******** she is hiding
Are my regrets from yesterday
I feel the gun blazing
As she ***** my breath away
I’m a hostage to her body
In the mayhem
She purveys
In the middle of the night
I’ll make my escape
Run, run, run
Run away
I’ve got to run
In the middle of the night
When her back is turned
Run, run, run
Run away
I’ve got to run
There’s a gun upon my bed
It belongs to my baby
Burned deep inside her
On a night she went
Crazy
And every time I think
I’ll flee
Her dangerous painted gun
She draws it against me
And I feel myself succumb
I see blood upon the doorstep
I smell ****** in her fold
I fear ghosts will haunt her body
In the bullets I have sown
I hear hungry infants crying
The ones she gave away
And the ******** she is hiding
Are my regrets from yesterday
Save me from her gun
She’ll never let me go
Save me from drowning
In her young and wanton soul
I’ve got to run
But there’s a gun
My baby won’t let me go.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 6:03 AM UTC
I can't sleep
The horrible news is bothering me
My fellow Filipinos in Marawi
Are being attacked by Maute Group/ISIS
They are burning down the place
The houses, the hospitals, the churches
And if you can't prove that you are a Muslim
They'll take you as a hostage
Those who don't wear hijabs "are taken care of"
Horrible, really horrible
My fellow filipinos there are suffering
Muslims and non-muslims
It's not supposed to be about religion
It's supose to be being people, human
It's suppose to be "humanity"
*"Save me from people of the world" Psalm 17:14
It's horrible, really horrible. How can these people be so cruel?? It's really scary, really scary*
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
I'm so tired of scammers!
There are so many around!
For every situation,
A scammer is to be found.
There's the email message
From a "friend" stuck overseas
Whose money has been stolen--
Who needs your help, please.
Have you received the phone call
Saying that you're in big trouble
With the I.R.S. and insisting
That you must pay on the double?
Computer hackers will take
Your PC hostage and say
That you'll lose ALL your computer
Data unless you pay.
What about being a winner
Of a contest? All you must do
Is forward them some money
And they'll send the "winnings" to you.
If you by chance get a call
From "Microsoft" or "Dell"
Saying your account's in danger,
Tell them to go to hell.
Scamming probably reaches
Far back into history.
The demise of the Neanderthals
Might not have been a mystery.
Did early **** sapiens
With carefully planned persistence
Scam neanderthalensis
Out of its earthly existence?
If scammers had put their know-how
In a positive direction,
We could say, "Three cheers
For natural selection!"
But, no, we're stuck with scammers--
A problem that clearly shows
That if we want to survive,
We've got to be on our toes!
- by Bob B
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 8:16 AM UTC
I'm starting to think it's me.
Maybe I ask to much,
though, admittedly,
maybe's it's because
I don't know what I am asking for?
I am starting to think, it's me.
Maybe I am the problem.
Or maybe that's just the voice in my head,
like a vice,
crushing any minor thing,
like an atom,
until it splits with the force of a thousand suns.
Or maybe it's everything else,
me included.
Maybe I just say it's me,
because I am my biggest bully,
and easiest target.
I thought I was asking for simple things,
but nothing seems simple anymore.
I just want these ropes untied from my hands.
Trapped in my own mind like a hostage,
who doesn't care if they make it out.
There is no greener grass on the other side,
I just wish this grass wasn't wet.
Sticking to me like feathers and tar.
I'm starting to think that I am just coasting along,
waiting for someone to help me fix my boat for me, before it sinks.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
The hopelessness hold so many worthy people hostage.
The key to rescue is in truth, Faith and healing, love of Christ.
Like you I too was at one time, held a prisoner by its grasp.
But it took Christ to rescue me from its slimy clutches.
I needed to know I am loved, and worthy of complete joy.
I may not always be happy but I do have joy in my life.
To know whom you are in Christ is the key to rescue.
But so many end up ending their life because of this.
But once you realize just how special that you are.
This is where the healing will take place in your life.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
Diminutive in frame and stature
defines him not, but instead enhances the
brilliance of his smile’s shine.
The golden flakes of honesty in his warm brown eyes
covey one vice that is captivation.
They hold hostage your most destructive thoughts
to instantaneously
replace them with the best; of
joy, contentment, and love-the best of him.
His high cheek bones define a mouth
so perfectly constructed.
They rise and fall like oceans’ waves with
every gentle gesture.
He thinks of love as a pool of chances
and illogically
he dives into the hurt he’s found himself in once
twice, no wait, three times.
But still, he never falters to give “chance”
just one more chance to prove he’s done what’s right.
Secondary comes his needs, in light of someone else’s.
The thoughts, “too tired” or “too busy” does nothing for him because
if someone needs help, you help them undoubtedly.
I have seen the coat that once
cascaded on his back give warmth to one
who had no coat
or smile
or joy
or light.
And for that one he lowered his head
to ask God for a favor.
I met this guy, this “perfect” guy when innocence consumed me
and since that day we’ve been each other’s confidant and comforter.
My love towards him supersedes that of a friend or
the best of that.
The truest thing I know is that when everyone one else
disappears to the mundane norms of life,
he will be there with me to cut through
the silence with rolls of laughter.
At what? It does not matter.
Because when I’m with him and he’s with me
there is a “we” that is formed and that “we” is captivates me
An infinite truth is that I will never stop
loving this young man.
He keeps my heartbeat steady so I
must exclaim the best of
joy, contentment, and love-the best of him.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 4:25 AM UTC
there is a darkness
that the silver song
of soft illusion lights
in symbolic equivalents
of images real
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
the breakage
at the jagged edges of the world
and lays hostage to impersonation
that resembles fragments
of smashed oval shaped mirrors
reflecting pieces of broken
brown terracotta soldiers
and causes the eyes to hurt
with a watched inner holocaust
of disturbing coloured detonations,
implosively autonomous
given to a deceived departure
a departure from reality
given by the advocacy
of ideological rationalism
that sees three kings
with blood on their crowns
in amplified convulsions
call mustre for
disturbance, disorder, destruction
and death
as blood stains the Balkan streets
and all emotional impulse
is volatilized
and a sinister, stuporous, stagnancy
stalks the land
where sustaining minds
are subject to a brutal insensitivity
that dazzles on the edge of a spiral vertigo
it is a light
brutally interrogative
magnifying with dazzling rays
a vocabulary of incoherence
like the rancid stains of *****
that inhabit the jagged edges of the world
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
there once was this guy named oedipus
of whom it was prophesied
that his mother he'd marry, his father he'd ****
at a place where three roads were tied.
his mother and father discovered their fate
and tried to dispose of their son
but he ended up in corinthian lands
and their efforts were all undone.
then a drunk guy ruined his happy facade
and to an oracle oedipus went
who repeated to him the dank prophesy;
he fled corinth, not taking a cent.
while on his sojourn away from his home
he encountered a party royale
which rudely pushed him off of the road,
and angered he slaughtered them all.
then from that blood soaked three-way path
he nonchalantly flew
not knowing that his father was
the man that he just slew.
he continued his journey until he reached thebes
where a sphinx held the city hostage
so oedipus solved the bird-cat's lame rhyme
and released thebes from its *******
as a reward, the people of thebes
gave oedipus their widowed queen,
unknowingly joining mother and son
in a marriage that was unclean.
after they ruled for twenty good years,
during which four children came,
a plague was induced by the sheltering of
the man by whom was slain
in searching him out, oedipus found
that the murderer was really he,
so long ago. the man he had killed
at the place where were joined roads of three.
but by finding this out, he also discovered
that his wife and his mother were one.
he gouged out his eyes after her suicide;
in her own bedroom she was hung.
as it turned out, oeddy exiled himself
but the seeds of his misery were sewn.
so he went to colonus and wandered around
and this is the end.
Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 5:14 AM UTC
All is NOT well in the grasslands.
The animals are fit to be tied.
The actions of the crafty wolves
Have left the rest of them horrified.
"How will we EVER be able
To keep democracy afloat,"
The antelope asked, "if the wolves
Don't allow us all to vote?
"In many sections of these grasslands,
Shameless wolves are doing their best
To hold voter registration
Hostage, keeping voters suppressed."
"They aim to control voter turnout,"
The deer added. "That's their hope.
Their sneaky ways to manipulate
Elections push the envelope!
“They stall and seek petty reasons
To take names off voting lists.
Fair and honest elections are
In jeopardy if this persists.”
"It's so close to election day,
Our courts are reluctant to raise objections,"
The buffalo said. "Some of the wolves
Are even running in the elections!
"Humph! They stole a Supreme Court justice.
Then they rammed another one through.
Now they're still suppressing voters.
What more damage will they do?"
"Winnowing down voter rolls!
Their strategies should be illegal!"
The fox chimed in. Looking around,
He asked, "Where is our dear friend Eagle?"
The absent eagle wanted no
Responsibility tied to her name.
She couldn't stop the out-of-control
Wolves, and hid her head in shame.
-by Bob B (10-19-18)
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
I don’t really like to play the victim,
But I'm being failed by this system
7 hours, a hostage to cinder block rooms
With nothing to do but let myself be groomed
Into someone's labor source
If I don’t have money, I cannot live
But nobody seems to have a thought to give
To my Life being turned into a commodity
Something to be owned, taxed, a luxury
That sometimes I’m not able to afford.
So much stock is put into democracy
But we don’t matter to bureaucracy
Unless we use the paychecks earned
From the Liberties we burned
To fill their empty promises
They call us ungrateful and lazy
For recognizing that this life is crazy
And resenting all the thought and time
Spent in the Pursuit of a rich man’s dime
Instead of our own Happiness
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
Lungs burning with affliction, no prayer can help you realize that you are on fire.
Help me, open my ribcage and read the encryption that is my heart.
This is where my ideas form; this is where the magic happens.
This is where trees become homes when I turn to prose.
This is where love becomes tangible.
Take the helm from my chest cavity and steer me home.
Sew me back up and pretend you didn’t figure out how my mind works from studying my heartbeat.
You can keep my memories there, keep my stanzas there.
But you cannot lock up an idea.
Do you realize that every single time you open your mouth I’m wishing I could have a lobotomy?
I don’t want my brain to miss you when you leave.
I don’t want my heart to miss you when it realizes that it no longer beats in sync with yours.
You can take yourself away from me.
You can make me cry so the salt water stings my face like it’s a burning map.
You can take my poems from my veins and scatter them in the river.
But you cannot lock up an idea.
Oh Captain my captain, I think we are going down.
But everyone is just an arm’s length from drowning.
When life preservers are anchors and every single thing is whispering for you to sink.
The Bermuda triangle is just another place where sailors go to pray and what kind of god ***** you in and tests you with a tempest?
You and I are so much more than child’s play.
Tell me to stay.
Tell me my ideas do not belong on the ocean floor.
Because you cannot lock up an idea.
If the sun shines through your blinds, think of me.
Think of the morning.
But without all your leaving.
Don’t think of the bags packed, of the plane tickets bought.
Of the ferry setting off its horn for you in the middle of the night.
Think of the morning.
Without all your leaving.
With the coffee, with the metaphors that were leaking through the walls as you blinked.
You wanted to keep them for yourself, hold them hostage in your bones.
But you cannot lock up an idea.
So next time you think of leaving, think of taking the ferry across the ocean.
Next time you think of whispering my secrets into the waves that kiss the rocks like they are not hurting anyone, think of me first.
Without the poems.
Before I even started writing.
Remember how I chased butterflies and the sunset.
How I begged you to let me climb up on the roof to watch the sun rise again.
Remember that my ideas are my prayers to a god I have not yet found in the curve of your spine.
Remember that I want nothing more than to not have to miss you.
Remember that every time you dismiss my words, my art, my need to chase the sunset; you are diminishing my creativity.
Remember that you cannot lock up an idea.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC
I've had
****
Not ***
Not **********
Not consensually.
I've been
******
*****
abused.
taken advantage of.
whatever it is you want to call it
I've had it done.
I've been kissed
Fingered
choked
hit
spit on
spit in
I've been held,
hostage
with knives against my throat
guns to my head,
in my mouth
drugs down my throat
barely conscious I've been
******
I've been in love
I've been heartbroken
I've been touched
consensually,
let me tell you about the consensually.
I've been kissed in the bathroom, lifting
her
up against the wall
laughing when our teeth brushed against
one another's
hands fumbling up a skirt
around a throat
fingers tangled in wavy hair.
I've been touched sitting in her lap
outside on a hot day
wearing her hoodie
around children
freshmen year.
I've been touched
multiple times
by him
in band rooms, away from prying eyes
secrets to be kept and wooed over
laying in a dress
during a concert event
head in the lap of my best friend
underwear brushed to the side
fingers thrusting in
and yes, this was consentually.
I've been touched
in the school hallways
every day after school or in between classes
tasted and tasted
he tasted me
I tasted myself.
And in the living room of our best friend's house
even though I told him no
I told him the safe word
he continued.
I say it was consensual because in the end,
I said I loved it.
Don't argue about it.
I wanted it.
and I've been touched
in her pool
heated ever so lovingly
LED lights danced us into the temptation
as did the alcohol on my part
with her lips against my chest
desperate to mark, yet not to show
i mean, hey, my step-dad's homophobic
though I'd love nothing more than to show who I belong to.
We switched a lot, but ultimately I landed in her lap
water licking up my sides,
sending chills to *******
goosebumps
and her fingers hesitating
not daring to touch.
"i'm going to need a yes."
finally.
Finally asked.
I nodded eagerly
and she treated me like a piano
perfect notes
though brief I know that I was
drenched in all ways
the chlorine water yes
and of course the obvious.
you see, we were going to do something that night
we had the chance to
I wanted to
she wanted to
In the end,
she took something for her headache
though it was a sort of
similar thing to Nyquil
We were going to.
But we laid in bed
and we molded against each other
and sailed asleep.
I've slept with one person.
Her
Sydney
My Muse.
But Still, A ******
am I
Mar 26, 2021
Mar 26, 2021 at 5:31 AM UTC
Stereotypes manifesting always,
(Always)
Trying to form themselves from something once seen,
But not really believing in oneself,
I see ignorance,
I see arrogance,
I see the lack of hunger,
Observing such savage pride of life,
I run from it all into a previous state,
(Anonymity)
I've reached the heights of total in-completion,
I build walls of isolation upon myself,
I am the collateral default of widespread degradation,
I stand in the gap between teeth and consumption,
I am the breed conceived by prey and predator,
Widespread suspended animation: that is our future,
We've tried to replicate the human makeup with mechanical frames,
And the translation of electronic gates,
Yet this is a folly,
For staring at the mirrors of selected life in an artificial environment,
Numbs our lives with emulation and self delusion,
The days of nobility dismantle into fragments and sink to the bottom of the glass,
Never to be turned over again,
Scattered,
Living among remnants of a life once lived with some sort of intensity,
Now smoldered in a quite ferocity of anger beneath the surface,
(Quiet tremors coming in flames)
Because we don't live our dreams,
We stand in the shadows of ruins,
We are afraid of the future,
We are afraid of the past,
Where does that leave us?
Leave me?
I stand on the edge of The Void
I'm holding myself hostage in the self sabotage entourage of the usual suspects,
Our friends, our families,
Disconnected with all intentions of coming together,
Because they die in front of their screens,
Not really living,
Right?
Light pollution massacre...
We'll fall like stars
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
Staring
With
Lustful
Gaze
Seductive
Darkness
Eludes
Light
To
Dark
Black
To
White
Gradients
Of
Trouble
Capture
This
Weary
Mind
Lie
Still
You
Hopeful
Hostage
Thirsting
For
Sleep’s
Tranquil
Sanctuary
Assuredly
Salvation
Is
Just
Moments
Away
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 5:34 AM UTC
You are a tornado.
You spin anyone too close to you, leaving them in a dizzy fit.
You break them before they break you.
No wonder I thought I loved you.
A tornado like me.
Promising trouble at every turn.
You whispered, "I love you".
Presenting it with secrecy.
Holding me hostage with twisted logic.
I am a tornado, I admit it.
And two tornados only bring more chaos.
I'm self-destructive but, you're too much for me.
Your lips were drowned in chloroform.
And I kissed you for the burn.
The same way I smoke cigarettes to pollute my lungs.
We drag each other to hell.
Shoot each other's hearts.
Naming it love, so we don't have to call it "just ***
You were always too much for me.
Too much chaos.
In return, I was presented with such little love.
We wrapped up each other's hearts.
Hid them in the shelves.
And danced away our summer days in my sheets.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
Match, match forward and go, you heroic sons of America
Reconnoiter into the strongholds of boko haram,
And restore our captive girls from the foul custody,
Lawlessly held hostage by the connoisseurs of terror,
Go on and recover poor souls from ribald of religion
Impishly created by Moslem from the satanic verses,
Regulating foray of terror on the poor of the poor
****** mahyeming, looting and executing massacres,
Match on and on yee angels of democracy,
Don’t stop in any haste or in any wonder,
To help in the sham flabbergastations,
About the Igbos who fought the Biafra,
And the Yorubas who federally defended,
Under the aegis of Obasanjo the Sandhurst
General, where are they all to save the girls
Of Nigeria from the Islamist terror
Excuted by boko haram the handmaid of evil.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
*standing on the threshold of change, I await a fresh-line
but the universe may be unready
if not, I may take to choppy-waters
all by myself*
1.
if we are all stuck in the jam of time
perhaps, if we spread it out real thin
some of us could actually lift off
and catch a ride.. out
free some hostage from the twisting temporal-joints
and the wool-gatherers mind their business
and footsore beggars dine on exotic-things
deep in the heart of the jungle
where Nebuchadnezzar parked his dreams of old
by saving your surprise for a weekday jaunt
we limp on in the vacant-dust of paradox
yet get unavoidably detained by the present
undo the ribbons and the package may unfold its.. things
espy the tick-tock riding the margin of fright
common sense of morn lies delightfully unfinished
and the wrong side of a bold idea gets squashed
the brain-weary ingest their lot and plough on through thickets of tricky-fate
while tiptoeing silent on the farthest-blades of brimstone
holding subtly aloft.. the frankness of aiding-spectres
2.
balloon of green, balloon of blue
hold out your hand and pray you get no inequalities of flame
easy catch of the sound of science scoffing in the parlour
when we try to do something different; take a chance
uncivilised-humour will argue the rings off your punctured-lobes
any germ of new plan must needs be nurtured
let any frenemy go; intolerant-ilk do better by their vacuous selves
remarkably convenient
there's almost enough water in the well
to soak up the ivory-rays and let them fly
and there's a breeze lifting the needle off the ancient-groove
spinning reels on the bay
*no, you will never convince me
that the time-keeper holds all keys
'cos I snuck out furtive.. late one night
and sawed through.. for a whole decade
and well, guess what I have here..*
:)
S T - 24 Jan 2014
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC