"pillars" poems
Behold Nigeria my motherland
A land that sits upon the hills of many waters
A country built on the ancient landmark of heroes band
An Eagle that protects her citizens in the arms of her feathers.
A beautiful Nigeria whose fields are as green as green could ever be
An Iroko that stands on the root of peace and unity
A fertile land that is as fertile as fertility can ever be
A united people, a proud nation void of segregation nor discrimination in her city.
My motherland a land that upholds the staff of dignity and natural endowment
A land of unity and peace glowing like a river of gold across the horizon
A nation that feeds on the diet of heavens supplement
An ocean that runs through the test of raging storms un-torn.
My motherland! My motherland!
A Nigeria that adores her women more highly than the Queen of England
An Olive that yields more than the cedars of Lebanon
A land whose daughters are as beautiful as the daughters of Job in Jerusalem's land
An independent country as powerful as the King Nebuchadnezar of Babylon.
It's Nigeria my motherland
A land that rests on the pillars of her freedom
A country seated on the pearls and treasures of many Ireland
A Nigeria that lives on the soil of heavens wisdom.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:55 AM UTC
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
After days of long studies comes the
days of rest. My violet dreams were
slumber-soft filled with lucent lilies
of curling flames born of ever colour
known and unknown. And I stood
in awe of them as my fears fall back
and cower in the shades of my mind.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I muse at how quickly my body
relaxed. Due to my marjoram'd
pillows and sheets of pure silk
and eiderdown? Or due to the
sips of the lavender tea in my in
my teacup decorated with a
butterfly motif?
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
I remember the sips in fours as
I blew the steam from my cup;
The first sip balmed my lips.
The second soothed my throat.
The third lulled my thoughts.
The fourth stilled my soul.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Though the tea, the pillow and
sheets were had a hand in my nightly
rest, the real answer is on my brow -
for it was when the night's cool air
blew, and where you placed your
sweet Morphean kiss.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
With a smile, I wake.
Sat on my golden summer throne
located in my marble gazebo; a
jewel in my private garden. With
thin caryatid pillars, draped in
fine doric chitons encircling me.
Their sculpted limbs hold up the
frieze carved with acanthus
that has a stained glass top of
peacocks and stargazers.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
The sheer curtains billow when
the eastern winds blow. By me, a
gold side table with a mirrored top
supported by three Greek key legs.
A pewter quill pen with a steel nib
and violet feather rests by its clay
inkpot; both beside a silver sinuous
nouveau vase and a small stack of
poetry books of black leather and
gilt.
~ ⚘ ⚪ ⚘ ~
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 7:48 AM UTC
Capricorns, Capricorns are ruled and schooled by the planet Saturn, Saturn, Saturn. A bandit with a similar pattern, pattern, pattern. Capricorns, Capricorns are brethren from a legion; a legion of an atmosphere of the southern-hemisphere; in the equatorial region. At an
angle, angle, angle; Capricorns, Capricorns are angels of Aquarius and
Sagittarius. They’re boisterous, courageous, contagious, glamorous,
prestigious, rebellious, various and victorious-goats, goats, goats!
Capricorns, Capricorns cope, devote, note and quote, quote, quote.
They’re ambitions with superstitions and various missions, missions, missions! They’re novelties and poverties, revelations and
revolutionaries, revolutionaries, revolutionaries. Capricorns, Capricorns are theories and visionaries, visionaries, visionaries.
They’re objects, projects and rejects. They’re leaders and readers that are poetically, negatively or positively dictatorial and doctorial! Some are historical, optical, political and radical; authentic, eccentric,
neurotic, poetic, theoretic, theoretic, theoretic. Unicorns, Unicorns are biblical and mythical, mythical, mythical; they’re ****** exotic, iconic, ironic, magic, nostalgic creatures, creatures, creatures. Their features
resembling a horse of course, of course. Furthermore, they’re fierce and a force. They’re a breed and creed of desire, fire and perspire, perspire,
perspire, perspire! They’re viral, viral, viral! This partial, sworn steed;
born awesome, awesome, awesome and too blossom, blossom, blossom. Unicorn’s spiral, crescent horn usually projecting and protruding from their foreheads. Rough and tough enough too pierce,
pierce, pierce! Unicorns, Unicorns are defendants, independents and
pendants. Hark! Hark! Hark! They’re brilliant and resilient sparks, sparks, sparks! They’re told as bold, old art, from the heart, from the start. Unicorns, Unicorns are fillers and pillars of guide, pride and
stride, stride, stride. They’re along for the long, long, long ride...
Unicorns, Unicorns are strong, strong, strong! Some as a song, song,
song, some throng, throng, throng, some wrong, wrong, wrong. As a
child, child, child; wild, wild, wild! Unicorns, Unicorns overwhelm, overwhelm, overwhelm. Their domicile realm, apparently, inherently and originally belonging from India; alleluia, alleluia for India, India,
India! Capricorns and Unicorns; two different creations. Capricorns
and Unicorns; two different relations. Capricorns and Unicorns; two
different situations and superstitions. They’re rainbows that glow, know and show. They’re of borrow, of sorrow and of our tomorrow.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:12 PM UTC
In the chair he played,
His muscles burned with his pain.
It was always constant,
The needless burning of his nerves.
Fingers curled he played,
There was enjoyment in the music.
It erased the pain and the sadness ,
The that the many scars of his nerves gave him.
Then he was gone
17 and gone in the last beat of the hearts
we cried happy birthday
But he wasn't the only one
What of the one teacher?
You helped him play through the pain,
While you yourself suffered,
How soon were you torn from us too?
Its all to soon.
You know their will be a final symphony,
they wont let you go without the notes.
draped on your shoulders like wings,
Angels of the band.
You both were pillars of strength,
And we all remember and sing and play.
For the good don't just die young,
They are set free of their suffering.
And we love you,
Let the symphony play.
I will cry for the man i barley knew,
For he helped the one I loved.
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
I let the sun and the moon rebirth me
And woke up in a forest
Naked and alone
Walking,
through the pillars of trees holding up the star speckled ceiling,
I knew
It was gone
It was all gone
The world that once inhabited this planet had vanished and disappeared
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 6:38 AM UTC
There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams,
Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams;
Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey,
And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday.
There are vines in nooks and crannies, and there's moss about the pool,
And the tangled weedy thicket chokes the arbour dark and cool:
In the silent sunken pathways springs a herbage sparse and spare,
Where the musty scent of dead things dulls the fragrance of the air.
There is not a living creature in the lonely space arouna,
And the hedge~encompass'd d quiet never echoes to a sound.
As I walk, and wait, and listen, I will often seek to find
When it was I knew that garden in an age long left behind;
I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more,
As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before.
Then a sadness settles o'er me, and a tremor seems to start -
For I know the flow'rs are shrivell'd hopes - the garden is my heart.
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Urges through the night, a blade dancing with its mistress, discarding what has summoned up in her way alike a ****** crazed devotion,
Scarlet tears make their way down her cheek, washing the sand off as the pillars around begin to collapse alike cards one by one at the time,
Phantoms rage as a pure flower appears to commence blooming,
The warped moon embraces the shadows of such fools as it rises,
Actions with not much meaning seek their rampage as the battle field becomes frail and soulless through this sleepless night of lunacy,
When the flood of realisation arrives she will be swept away unlike the wise who make a more solid, stadfast decision. How trecious,
Does she want to take a dance with this cruel world she rampages on, are her ideals fitting for this battle she is about to win for now,
Drenched in blood and impurities of her work, her mind remains pure, innocent, not even sweating one thought to the consequences,
Mercy nor compassion are unlikely to be granted in this darkening realm, not to her dancing knife or her lunatic ****** devotion,
Time is moving, as she sacrafices her soul for her actions,
Taking another dance in this distorted dark
~ Umi
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 12:44 PM UTC
Ramadan opens door of mercy each year
reconciling all our hearts on goodness, generosity and forgiveness.
We are all clusters of sins awaiting repentance
holding on to a book bonded with threads of faith
Encrusted with pristine words and reminders from Allah (swt)
When our heads hung low,
And our eyes dripped tears and despair
The pillars of Islam held us back up.
They are the backbone of our lives.
Ramadan leaves us with empty stomachs during the day
But with that our tongues are heavy with thikr
And our hearts are soft from patience.
I pray that we find the right doors to open, and that we remain among the faithful believers.
Ramadan Kareem to my muslim followers x
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
I.
the emperor
sleeps in a palace of porphyry
which was a million years building
he takes the air in a howdah
of jasper beneath saffron
umbrellas
upon an elephant
twelve foot high
behind whose ear
sits always a crowned
king twir-
ling an
ankus of
ebony
the fountains of the emperor’s
palace run sunlight and
moonlight and the emperor’s
elephant is a thousand years old
the harem of
the emperor
is carpeted with
gold cloth
from the
ceiling(one
diamond timid
with nesting incense)
fifty
marble
pillars
slipped from immeasurable
height,fall,fifty,silent
in the incense is tangled a cool moon
there are thrice-three-hundred
doors carven of chalcedony and
before every door a naked
****** watches
on their heads turbans of a hundred
colours
in their hands scimitars like windy torches
each
is
blacker than oblivion
the ladies
of the emperor’s
harem are queens
of all the earth and the rings
upon their hands are from mines
a mile deep
but the body of
the queen of queens is
more transparent
than water,she is softer than birds
2.
when the emperor is very
amorous he reclines upon
the couch of couches and
beckons with
the little
finger of his left
hand
then the
thrice-three-hundredth
door is opened by the tallest
****** and the queen
of queens comes
forth
ankles
musical with large pearls
kingdoms in her ears
at the feet of
the emperor a cithern-
player squats with
quiveringgold
body
behind
the emperor ten
elected warriors with
bodies of lazy jade
and twitching
eyelids
finger
their
unquiet
spears
the queen of queens is dancing
her subtle
body weaving
insinuating upon the gold cloth
incessantly creates patterns of sudden
lust
her
stealing body ex-
pending gathering pouring upon itself stiffenS
to a
white thorn
of desire
the taut neck of the citharede wags
in the dust the ghastly warriors
amber with lust breathe
together the emperor,exerting
himself among his pillows throws
jewels at the queen of queens and
white money upon her nakedness
he
nods
and all
depart through the bruised air aflutter with pearls
3.
they are
alone
he beckons,she rises she
stands
a moment
in the passion of the fifty
pillars
listening
while the queens of all the
earth writhe upon deep rugs
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The shadows
They follow me
Trapped in my own coffin
Of what others call my mind
I do see the light of day
Yet I choose to ignore it
I see the people around me
But I still stay where I am
I get moments of hope
When I feel like I'm strong once again
But then you disappear
And my pillars of strength come tumbling down
I feel so weak
And so worthless
I wonder if I'm good enough
I wonder if you'll say
I wonder if fear will win again
I wonder if you think of me the same
I wonder if you can handle my life
I wonder if you will truly love me
Or will you just leave like the others?
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 1:02 AM UTC
*I will love you till the birds give up flying
Till eyes give up the habit of crying
I will love you till the cats make a truce with mice
Till probabilistic algorithm needs not a dice
I will love you till the Nile pours water into Victoria
I will love you more than war is cherished by any warrior
I will love you till Butterflies become caterpillars
And even if It's samson pushing the pillars
The pillars of my passion will never crumble
I will never change course even if I stumble
I will love you till the Doves stop to sing
Till entangled bees cease to sting
I will love you till the Sun grows cold
And the moon burns hot and grows old
I will love you till it snows in Hell
I will love you till Ants stop living in hills
Because I need you just as Snail needs her Shell
I will love you even when human heart no longer feels
I will love you till all African states unite
I will love you till old age steals my sight
I will love you till roads cease to have potholes
I will love you even after my destiny calls
I will love you till poems no longer rhyme
I will love you till the end of time*
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
How dare you feed your shadow and bind your rulebook with the cells of my brain, the tissue of my heart and the calories of my existence.
How dare you tear down my home. How dare you throw away the cushions of my stomach, tear down the curtains of my hair, destroy the pillars of my legs. Until all that was left was the cold brick. an empty house. A hollow heart, a bedridden passion for life.
You ate my muted screams and my broken dreams. Slower, no slower, chew slower. Don’t eat too quick. Weigh that, no! Weigh it again, the scales could be wrong so round it up, log it, 200 left for dinner. Please just let me eat, please give me peace.
Dog-earing her rulebook and breaking its osteoporotic spine. Feeding my life, furnishing my home.
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 12:08 PM UTC
My body spun
From one side of my garage
to the other.
In between the pillars of poles
creating space between the cars
parked in the two car garage
perfect family, right?
not even close
I unlaced my skates
tossing them in a case,
unorganized as my chaotic brain
I leaned down to pick up
a mess of what looked
like plastic
like a broken water container
crushed by the weight
of a basketball tossed without looking
being the good girl I was
I picked up the charred plastic
placing it in my hand to
throw it in the trash
I dropped it in the can
letting the pieces fall
one
by
one.
As I wiped my hands
I found a piece I had forgotten
it had the label of Prego on the side
I realized then
It was a broken spaghetti jar
I ran upstairs
to help with dinner.
I asked my mom
what I could do to
She said
"You can run that blood
under a cold water faucet"
I looked at her confused, saying
"Where am I bleeding?"
She turned my arm over
showing me the cut
glazed over my forearm
I hadn't even felt it
I didn't know
that was the moment
I would find an advantage
to not feeling pain
and an interest
in the impure
realization
that bleeding
wasn't scary...
that it couldn't hurt me
as much as the rest
of my life could.
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
Rusty nail by rusty nail the floors come down. Floor by floor
the old men of the old town slip away, and leave old shells
like the stone bread of Pompey. We board these windows
and bolt these doors and slate them in the young sun
for the hungry cranes, but I return in the twilight
of going home traffic when five o'clock lets loose blue collars
to fumble through the ruined rooms of time gone by,
I kick through our broken bricks. Their red dust stains
my shoes and wears on my cuffs. A hopeless hearth,
discarded news, a crippled doll with matted hair
and I all share the crumbling of the day, but only I
shall not remain come compline. Neither can I
pack these walls with me. So this is adieu
to former strongholds. To our old fidelity, adieu.
It is not fit to go forth less than brave, for
they built seven cities over Troy, seven worlds
not knowing where they stood so long the first
could not be said to be. The docks of Caesarea sleep
in the sea, and tourists sit for lunch
on the prone pillars
of Jaffa.
Nov 10, 2012
Nov 10, 2012 at 9:09 PM UTC
Earth withers, air died
Water fouled, while fire lost might
Nowhere from, origin
Voyage to, end lasting sin
Save the princess, king orders
Must destroy the demon lord, he ponders
Built the rainbow bridge, aid from
Collecting the pillars of light, facing storm
Dragon, a symbol of bravery
Quest, a virtuous journey
Demons, his sword would kiss
Dragon Warrior, amazingly he is
|AB|
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 3:51 AM UTC
i need it: the concrete floors
that send electricity through the soles of my shoes,
the ascent up stairs, cold metal under my palm
as lana sings to me and i give her my own words in return
and the pillars of my past rise up before me.
i need the now-familiar halls, the gleam of wood and glass
appropriately placed. i need the embrace of cold air,
heavy with home smells: vulcanized rubber, sweat,
fresh ice. i need my wall, my stairs, my home address: 112, 3, 12.
i need my family, related by blood and ice, by joy and frustration,
by elation and tears. i need the ceiling off its trusses,
the pitch black, the red lights, the resounding bass,
the cold and reverent silence as the bulbs sizzle back to life--
the opening face-off, teeth gritted, fists closed.
i need the smack of sticks against ice,
pucks stinging red pipes, blades scraping up snow,
the crunch of the boards, the red light and the deafening horn,
six thousand people erupting in screams, one entity,
every hand pointed to one end of the rink. i need the urge to
bite my nails, an adrenaline rush, i need to clock-watch,
i need to ***** and laugh and yell and grin, i need to
collapse and breathe when the buzzer sounds, three more points,
closer to the penrose, closer to the ncaa's--
i need hockey.
i need home.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
The flag, a white crescent and single star
on a field of crimson — kırmızı, not just 'red' —
tells of Islam. The men drinking beer and rakı
at pavement tables, even in Ramadan,
and the short-skirted, bare-armed girls,
parading with bare-faced confidence,
tell of other influences;
but at the appointed hour we hear the call to prayer
from the marble minaret, a slim finger
pointing to the sky beside shining domes
reflecting the vault of heaven.
At five a.m. we hear it faintly through hotel double-glazing,
or at sunset, as a peaceful accompaniment to the spectacle,
and we remember where we are.
But especially at the midday hour,
when the voice of the muezzin echoes
over noisy street or market,
and from another minaret and another
the duet becomes a trio, a quartet
of different melodies, out of tune
with each other but never discordant
(in these tones the word has no meaning),
the faithful are reminded, however busy they may be,
that their God requires something of them.
Then, entering the cool calm of the mosque,
entering the quiet forest of pillars,
feeling through the soles of our bare feet
marble polished by the tread
of generations of worshippers,
fine-grained wood,
the rich softness of crimson carpet,
we luxuriate in the textures as they combine
with the formal floral patterns of the tiles,
the ornate calligraphy of the inscriptions,
the rich colours of the glass,
and we realise that the builders of these mosques
knew what they were doing, so many years ago,
how peace can enter the soul
through the senses.
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
Through portico of my elegant house you stalk
With your wild furies, disturbing garlands of fruit
And the fabulous lutes and peacocks, rending the net
Of all decorum which holds the whirlwind back.
Now, rich order of walls is fallen; rooks croak
Above the appalling ruin; in bleak light
Of your stormy eye, magic takes flight
Like a daunted witch, quitting castle when real days break.
Fractured pillars frame prospects of rock;
While you stand heroic in coat and tie, I sit
Composed in Grecian tunic and psyche-knot,
Rooted to your black look, the play turned tragic:
Which such blight wrought on our bankrupt estate,
What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?
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From the ripple in a glass of water
to the sonic boom of this internal
Pompeii, the erosion
of her etymology is the only
sense of movement in her
dilated, cave-pupil eyes, those
two ghost towns spanning
and encircling all the way back,
stretched like an elastic blindfold
past the moment the first brick was laid,
perhaps her first vivid memory,
or anecdote, or first word uttered
in a Cuban slum.
There are mountains of tumbleweed
over the once thriving metropolis
that expanded towards America;
who threw herself into
the architecture of seven pillars,
borne from her land and
minerals. Gone are the
huts that housed her
knowledge of basic motor skills.
The women who once imagined
Mami and Mima as her birth
name now scrub off
the graffiti of her excrement;
they saw a swarm of pink moons
the day she told the same story
to every visitor that came
their way, each day then becoming
a missing surveillance tape, a sinkhole
dismantling the awareness
in her bones and stubborn will,
until she became
these dust-engulfed plains with
a daughter and granddaughter
archeological in their efforts
to chase down the remains
of a girl still breathing in
those eyes from time to time.
Every other ten-millionth blink of
the eye rides the silhouette of a post-infant girl
on the high tides of her quick visit,
looking in horror
as the nation of her life's nightmares,
heartaches, broken promises, romances,
spiritual breakthroughs, life-changing seconds
drowns with morbid unity en cien fuegos,
desperately attempting to assemble
the remnants of her psyche
past her cognitive bloodclots
with the awareness of one
who speaks no languages.
Gone is the moment
she first learned
to feed her several children
before the slip of sunset.
One of seven pillars remain intact,
the others long dismantled of their
stick and straw infrastructures.
One pillar remained,
housed her own colony
for nine months,
and now both descendants
travel the mind of their
greatest influence
with perplexed dedication,
caustic humor the decoy
for swarms of exhaustion
and asphyxiation
from the truthful atmosphere,
reveling in the seconds
of humanity lurking
in an abandoned etymology.
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 11:19 AM UTC
Battles raged on for
the cold, iron throne.
Kings were slaughtered
of origins, unknown.
Misery and death,
that’s what it bred.
That throne, so cold,
to destruction, it led.
Rebels had risen
to claim the throne
whose kingdom from hatred
had slowly grown.
The hunger for power,
the thirst to rule.
The throne turned
the wisest, into a fool.
The land was soaked
with blood that was shed.
That throne, so cold,
to destruction, it led.
In a kingdom built of hate,
with pillars of lies,
stands the cold, iron throne
as it’s glorious prize.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
But not a sea of dull unvaried green,
Sharp contrasts of all colors here are seen;
The light-green graceful tamarinds abound
Amid the mango clumps of green profound,
And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;
And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
Red—red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.
But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges
Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon
Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes
Into a cup of silver. One might swoon
Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze
On a primeval Eden, in amaze.
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Constallations, a septette for shining stars
Seven in number, aline like no other, a fusion sign in melting white,
Caught in stellar evolution in the arts of the nuclear, they expand,
Red giants, the final step in their life, before they either blow the layer off gently tossing it into the depth of space, or they go out with a bang
The fall of these great stars, gifting light which is likely to grow life,
A nova which drags their orbital children to the deepest abyss releasing enough energy for a heavenly meltdown breaking hell loose
Stars, standing upon the pillars of creaton planted in there like trees,
Polaris, burn bright in white till you blow up, hell fire don't go out,
In line, with the others, you form a radiant great, or rather big dipper,
Oh you blazing fixed star, northern, luminous and majestic, shine on,
Let this dream fill you up with energy, rumbling deep inside, still you are satisfied, with the reactions, with speed much greater than sound,
A force which would easily break the earths ground, shatter it within moments of a violent dance of might and power beyond any reason,
For the millions, the septentrion shall shine on in a changing dipper,
Until the moment they die.
~ Umi
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 6:37 PM UTC
Where do you see yourself in a year?
Still living here -
A tactile skyline atop pillars of smoke
Heavy with guilt
And the craftsmanship of a generation of men
To whom Earth is a rock, immortal
Untouched by the bouts of the smog which ascend
To hold up their forges?
Where that which is green must also be man-made
And an old plant-pot
On an old window-sill
Is the closest to what was here before? Is it a facsimile?
Where your throat hurts,
Chemicals an ersatz flowing stream
Of purest water -
And why is rainfall the freshest you can drink?
You haven’t always been here.
Where were you before? Was it green
Or blue, or any other colour
Besides this abiding grey? Perhaps
There were rainbows and colours
And sunlight, unfiltered by smog
Or dust. Warm, purposeful.
Her fragility charmed you.
Because our Earth is not immortal. A wanderer
In space, motherly, who are we to defile her?
A species of smoke and tar turning her soft hues sour
Colours unknown to nature
Like a drop of arsenic in a stream flowing through rocks?
Do you see yourself living
In a fortress, tumultuous to its steel bones
Each day burrowing deeper into her body,
Claiming her for its own, and ruining her at the same time?
So you think about your opportunity.
This life which fills her air, pulsing and vibrant,
To restore the purity we are missing -
Because Human and Nature are as one,
Invention is necessary but we are losing our time,
Virescent leaves brushing in the wind,
Our friends are loving, laughing, living
And we realise now that we are able to do so much better.
Or does none of that matter, somehow?
We make money to spend on plastic.
We are born, we work, we breathe, we die,
But we are still yet to run out of time
So where do you see yourself in a year?
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 4:46 AM UTC
Splitting the sea,
The wind I feel, keeps crossing over time, clearing the path between a sea of truth and lies, revealing what was hidden within such misery,
Amongst an ocean of common sense, opens the true pathway,
Cross it, by the miracle created in the dearness you held so close,
Caught within the border of life and death, you cannot be swept away
Don't be built on sand, the one you are walking on, wet, fragile and likely to fall apart within the barriers of water, pillars rising up to you, yet there is no need to worry, have faith, your transience remains
Distortion, clouded within judgement of two sides which only one is righteous about, oh how trecious, lies cannot win a long run yet try to
mislead and falsify the facts of life for ones owns benefits and needs,
The truth however, may be harsh and hard to take, yet has a sweeter taste than the best lie given, even though, you may end up deserted.
Those liars, they chase after you for not following them, yet when the sea collapses they surely will drown in the reigns of the truthful water
Looking at what I desire to accomplish, is to break the boundaries with this miraculous wind, be carried away, softly, gently swaying,
Carrying my wings, fighting on until the moment when I should fall,
Until the moment this path is overtaken by the ocean again
~ Umi
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC