"sharper" poems
African woman
Mother of civilization.
Oh beautiful woman,
Thou are beyond description.
African woman
Queen of the people of Mamba.
Jambo to all those in heaven
Bless you too my dear mama.
African woman
Royal Nubian Queen.
The backbone of her man
You'll do anything to help him win.
Single Black woman
Made of broken pieces
You're the breadwinner,Superwoman.
You're the symbol of strength in all places.
African woman
Daughter of Eve's.
Thou are God's true specimen,
And the apple of his eyes.
Black woman
Daughter of Africa.
Blueprint of a **** woman,
Dark hue of coffee arabica.
African woman
Mother of humanity
Chieftess of ancient Nyngoman,
Mama Africa's bounty.
African woman
My Mandingo bride.
First woman of Africa's Eden
Center of God's black tribe.
Nigerian woman
My Yoruba Queen.
Envied by the women of Oman,
Cafe ou lair, cream of Africa's cream!
Warrior woman,
Queen of Wakanda.
Come and flip your wand,
Find the soul of Sarafina.
Curvy woman
In your womb lies Africa's future.
My Lormah woman
Oyobuays marvels at your structure.
Beautiful woman,
Perpetual envy of the silicon woman.
Pride of the Black man,
The essence of a real woman.
Indigo Woman
Lillies of the African plains.
Thou are Eve of the African Eden,
Best of the portraits that nature paints.
Voluptous woman,
Full, thick natural lips.
Real assert of the Black woman,
Nature gets aroused by your hips.
Ellen Sirleaf, today's woman,
Africa's first female president.
A Liberian woman,
Loved and revered wherever she went.
Smile ,Gambian woman,
You're daughter of Sarakunda.
Roots of the Black American woman,
Captives of the kanda Bolinga.
South African woman
Mariam Makeba
Sang for freedom and fought like a man
You were truly Soweto's finest Deva.
Dark ebony woman,
You are red, yellow and green.
Hanmatan wind stops at your command,
Born to slay and be seen.
African woman
Thou are the only reason
God put Adam in a coma.
Your perpetual beauty transcends time and Season.
African woman,
Under your cleavage, the Nile flows
And between your fingers, golden threads are woven,
You are the reason Beyonce glows.
Harriet Tubman, brave woman
Smuggled slaves underground.
She was a freed Black slave woman,
Who avowed to leave no soul behind.
Creative woman
Maya Angelou, gifted poetess.
Famous writer and a Black woman
Will be remembered for her poetic prowess.
Native African woman,
Africa's limestone and cement.
A mother, a wife, virtuous woman,
Lioness and the spine of the continent.
Liberian woman
Roots of my poetry, you gave me life
You are every woman.
Your edges are sharper than the Sumarais knife.
#IvanBrookspoetry©
13/8/2018
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 4:56 AM UTC
No no no, this isn’t one of those commendable confessional rants of redounded reality.
We all know where that goes and what it leads to.
This rhetoric comprises solely of the faulty intuitive comprehension and the ******** behaviour people have while under the influence of the poor man’s ****
That could be mistaken for a typo.
Xeno-meph, would be what aliens are called if they did this too.
Extended warranty of your sinus cavity is a must.
And a mouth guard so you don’t churn away at the capricious calcium that are your teeth.
Smoke and dance till lungs and legs collapse.
Talk like you’re the spokesperson for an oil company that’s pillaging life and land.
Change your personality in a minute and become the ****** you always wanted to be.
That smart talking, **** wagging, ***** licking, *** ******* back stabbing, self serving, worthless piece of **** is now you, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.
Rational ******** your only reprieve.
Keep doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hoping the outcome will change.
But you’re cool.
You’ve done this before, it’s solvable.
A break. That’s all there’s to it.
The itch in your nose has stopped. Your jaw doesn’t hurt.
You don’t feel like **** but you know somehow that something is amiss.
Things are not what they seem. Sense doesn’t make itself.
The dark is your sanctum. Fast is your peace.
That’s not a typo.
The world cannot slow down for you.
You have to speed up. Another gram, another line, another lie.
Control is what you say it is.
Handles are what your stomach has.
Fast forward a few months and you don’t have a handle on anything.
You don’t feel down, you feel fine. Nothing’s wrong
But just another fall, and you’re straight out of line.
Justify! Justify! Justify!
Listen, keep listening… Talk! keep talking!
Everything makes sense. Everything is a sense.
The difference is that I’m faster, quicker, sharper.
I’m handicapped.
Leverage is my mind, broken and blind.
I wish that was a typo.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
do you think you have it?
cause I want to hide from you
living in defense
don't try to steal from me
the panic in your voice says
you think you lost it
never mind that
It was never yours to begin with
come into my space
show me what you've done
maybe it's too far gone
I think I feel undone
with the breeze, it crosses by
touched my skin
and touched my thigh
pierced my soul
you caught my eye
sharper grip against the grain
don't live in this vein
never mind the fear
you'll find it all in here
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
Excuses, excuses - they'll come in a flood,
When you realize your actions have pushed me away.
Imagine! That I once considered you blood!
But I've had quite enough of the games that you play.
The switch came in stages, a gradual thing,
I first didn't notice; it wasn't too clear.
My perspective grew sharper with distance between,
Felt your backhanded words as they pin-pricked my ears.
You thought I wouldn't notice, would let it slip by,
Never gave me much credit, and that was your fault.
Wrapped your insults in jokes, like arsenic on rye,
And you thought all this time that you wouldn't be caught.
I don't know where you get it - this self-righteous act,
It's not as endearing as you think it to be.
You might take what you want, and then leave it at that,
But I'm telling you now: you'll get no more from me.
I don't know what has prompted you picking this fight.
They're pathetic, yet hurtful, these things that you say.
And I don't know where you think you've gotten the right
To take it out on me when you don't get your way.
For years, it's been happening - don't know how I missed
All the ways you controlled me; I answered to you.
Always did what you wanted, I'm realizing this;
The extent of the selfishness you put me through.
But it changed not too long ago, didn't it, dear?
Oh yes, I grew a spine, and things started to change.
And, oh, you didn't like what you started to hear.
My defying your wants nearly made you deranged.
People grow and they change; it's especially true
For me ever since I was finally free.
So how sad to discover it's not true for you,
You're the same as you were, and as you'll always be.
That's the person you are, who you've been since we met
And it never caused issues until days of late.
The things that you've said are things you will regret,
Because I have no room for your envy-fueled hate.
You've become quite the mean one - I'm sorry, it's true.
You're no longer the person to whom I could turn.
It's a shame (it's a **** shame), but yes, we are through.
And it will not be me who is nursing the burn.
Maybe one day you'll change, and we might reunite.
I'm not getting my hopes up - there's danger in that.
Until then, I hope you learn to treat people right,
Because no one desires to stand by a brat.
Maybe I am the first to address how you are,
But I won't be the last, and this, I can assure.
Your poignant self-righteousness won't get you far,
And I'm sorry - for your case, there isn't a cure.
So remember me now; you'll remember me then,
When you lose all those who used to stand at your side.
You'll remember the disrespect you showed your friend,
For alas, she won't be there, holding you as you cry.
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 9:41 PM UTC
Yellow-haired shinobi
Hokage of our hearts
Teach us all of bravery
With your deadly ninja arts!
How sharper than a kunai
And mightiest by far
Uzumaki Naruto
Konoha's brightest star!
When you're starving for some ramen
And your chakra needs a fill
Have a bowl with Naruto-chan
Jiraiya's got the bill!
And when old Madara's cracking wise
And Susano'o fills the darkened skies
Remember where your true strength lies!
With good friends like Naruto!
Dattebayo!
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
shove your fingers down your throat
- he's gone now honey, you don't need the liquor
it's grown too common to watch the ***** pour from your mouth
and collapse laughing on the bathroom floor
forged in blood and ***** you're a new god as you must be
must believe keep believing remembering
you are the daughter of the woman formed of hate turned in -
who found more love than she dreamed she deserved
nearly died to bear the life she longed for
of the woman who would not fail or cease
scraped through a new world to claw out the life she needed
daughter of the witch stole away
seamless
made of glass and so, sharper, more dangerous when broken
your blood will not drain or cease to flow
even as you will your heart to stop.
Your lungs find ways to expand beyond the
breadth of your ribs
blood and *****
bruises and windows and Ledges and Knives
- these were your becoming
lie on the tiles weeping and laughing
for nothing beautiful was ever borne without blood
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
She says she doesn’t have the strength within herself to write poetry.
Yes, her. The one who so often nourished me with song
til my soul began to learn how to hunt for itself,
whose word carried weight in leading me to pick my own instrument,
albeit one of a different tone,
as the key in keyboard became prominent for the first time
and the sound of purposeful fingers upon it could be considered,
only in the right light,
synonymous to the plucking of strings, just as rooted in emotion.
Yet she's the first to say that she herself can't do it.
Thing is, I suppose we’re politely at odds on the matter.
She favors poetry that’s sharper, with a cleaner cut,
that’s message is immediate and jarring
as a conduit running from soul through skin,
or a loose-lipped diary finally freed from lock and key.
And when she declared it, I started to consider what my poems seem to me:
Blackberry bushes (but kinder, I hope)
that snag and immerse just long enough
to make me feel I’ve had an effect.
I’ve used writing to expel my most gnarled feelings
to any passerby who’s maybe felt the same.
Like crying in a mirror:
alarming, but oddly refreshing,
and an indefinite reminder that our aches are never only our own.
Still, I'm not sure why it blows my mind
to hear that even the most glamorous hearts,
who wear confidence as a summer breeze that's always in their favor
and who inspire, from beau gestures to sleight of hand,
are included in those who find themselves pacing back, back and forth,
begging curbside at the dime store
for a scrap of the same feed that convinces a heart to pump ink.
But she says that any art that's enjoyed is worth it.
So while she seeks out words that bare the bones,
I’ll stay and make a meal of the marrow,
hollowing them so that the poetry may have a rightful place
to reverberate as hymns in a universal monastery.
But hell, like I’m any old soul.
I dress nicer than I otherwise would,
turn to the mother who told me I don’t meet her lowest standards,
and ask for a critique.
All for the moment when she greets me at the door with a legendary G#.
...Now please, could you spare a dime?
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
Jagged edges , sharp turns
and screeching halts.
what a build up.
impatient for the explosion,
yet trudging on.
waiting.
hoping for that silver lining,
a moment to breathe
gone too soon
heaving, grasping, panting.
more turns, and sharper edges.
like a lead foot on an open road
faster, faster
too fast
losing control
trying to find something to hold on to.
someone.
but nothing,
no one.
you scream
louder, harder
tears pouring.
hands clenched
heart pounding.
there's no stopping.
you let it take over.
faster, faster.
you can see it.
too fast.
the end of the..
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
The rose is obsolete
but each petal ends in
an edge, the double facet
cementing the grooved
columns of air—The edge
cuts without cutting
meets—nothing—renews
itself in metal or porcelain—
whither? It ends—
But if it ends
the start is begun
so that to engage roses
becomes a geometry—
Sharper, neater, more cutting
figured in majolica—
the broken plate
glazed with a rose
Somewhere the sense
makes copper roses
steel roses—
The rose carried weight of love
but love is at an end—of roses
It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits
Crisp, worked to defeat
laboredness—fragile
plucked, moist, half-raised
cold, precise, touching
What
The place between the petal’s
edge and the
From the petal’s edge a line starts
that being of steel
infinitely fine, infinitely
rigid penetrates
the Milky Way
without contact—lifting
from it—neither hanging
nor pushing—
The fragility of the flower
unbruised
penetrates space
5.5k
My hand became yours in marriage
My mind and soul remained mine
Your family should have become mine
My family became yours
Was it that you were the first born?
First born son
I was also a first born
First born daughter
Your mother's talons had dug in deep
Not in you but me
Every look she gave
Every snide remark
I tried nice, I tried too hard
I showed my talons, and my talons were sharper
I cut deep, like a bird of prey
After all mother in law, remember
Only the bride wears white
And a man is a son until he meets his wife.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
I watch my reflection in the mirror
with my pale blue eyes
watching my lifeless stature in the dark
bones made out of gelatin
and my heart out of fragile glass
that breaks everytime i see myself
My fingertops softly touch my face
Tears keep coming faster
till my waterlines are overflowing
My nails grow sharper
and my fingers cramp
digging holes under my eyes
I want to shatter my bones
And burn my skin to ashes
I want to rip the hair from my scalp
as well as all the pages
filled with frustration
scratching and screaming
I have to be pretty
but the need for it grows
as well as the demons inside my soul
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
Doctor, Doctor
I've trouble with my eyes
Then take these blue pills,
That's what I advise
Oh Doctor, Doctor
My bones are all sore
White pills I prescribe
They'll hurt you no more
But Doctor, Doctor
My heartbeat is waning
Take red pills for that
You'll soon be regaining
Please Doctor, please
My mind fades away
For that I have gray pills
You'll be sharper today
Its quite shocking Doctor,
My ***** is murky
Take these yellow pills
They'll clear it by Thursday
I mope around Doctor,
My mood's really flat
These rose colored pills
Will take care of that
You must help me Doctor,
In bed I'm a flop
Then try these long capsules
They'll liven things up
Tell me please Doctor,
What's inside these pills?
Why medicine, of course,
To cure all your ills
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
bubble gum died Sunday of strokes at his home ,
The pink bubble gum ...
had a tiny comic strip
Little children wanted to read the comic.
in an adulterous liaison
and is born homely and with green skin.
under the hawkish gaze
in retro pastel uncool-they’re-cool-again cans,
a big splash with a peppy
emoji-like smiles on the side and some polka dots
oh oh oh oh oh oh thus liked
consumers should felt free
... to be relentlessly
Has almost no bite.” “Full-bodied.
This tastes like a Twizzler...
“Sharper bubble feel.”
acrolein, acrylamide, acrylonitrile,
crotonaldehyde and propylene,
flavorturned into a huge mess like 'unicorn poop'
and bubble gum."
oh oh oh oh oh oh thus liked
“All those teenagers was twerk,
take selfies and curse up a storm. …”
oh oh oh oh oh oh thus liked
...turned into a huge mess
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
When my mom first thought that I was gay,
She and my father sat me down at the kitchen table.
I was fifteen and thought I was in love,
And all they could do was scream at me...
‘You’re a sin; what you feel isn’t natural.’
‘Where did we go wrong?’
And all I had wanted was to love in peace.
But apparently, that was too much to ask from them.
So I stifled myself.
I cut myself off from her and let us wither
Until there was nothing left of us because
I wasn't normal
And I was fifteen
And all I wanted was my mother’s approval
And how could I gain that if I wasn’t normal?
And then I was sixteen and I thought I was in love again
But this time with a seventeen-year-old boy
That knew nothing of love
And everything of sharp edges and even sharper words
But he spoke so pretty to me,
And how could I resist?
But he hurt me worse than anyone else that I’ve known
And he never even cared…
And then I was seventeen.
I was seventeen and my best friend had this mane
Of beautiful hair and I called her lovely and wife
And all the other silly little pet names that high school girls do
But little did she know that her smile
Lit fireworks inside my brain and the swarms of
Butterflies that beat in my chest rivalled that of a drum.
I thought she was beautiful.
I saw the universe in her.
But how could I admit that to myself without admitting it to
My mother, the one person whose validation I crave like
Air and water and life itself?
How could I admit to her that I wasn’t
Her little girl anymore?
That I was a disappointment?
And then I was eighteen.
I was eighteen and numb and not looking for anything when he found me...
I was eighteen and I thought that surely,
Surely
This was it, this was the feeling that I was waiting for.
But it wasn’t and I was eighteen and alone again
But this hurt worse than the others and then I was gone after that summer.
Now, I’m almost nineteen.
I’m almost nineteen and I’ve accepted the fact that
I will disappoint my mother;
The one whose opinion that I value the most;
The one that gave birth to me;
The only one that can tear me down until I feel like nothing.
But she’s my mother so how could I let her go
When she was there for my first word and my first steps
And every one of my other firsts.
My first date.
My first dance.
My first breakup.
She was there when I left for college, and she’ll be there when (if)
I get married.
Because regardless of my choices,
She loves me, and she always will.
And even if I can’t bring my partner home,
I will love her all the same.
So mom, if you see this,
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that I didn’t turn out how you wanted.
I’m sorry that I disappointed you.
But I’m not sorry for being who I am.
I’m not sorry for thinking women are beautiful
And men are handsome
Because all the world needs is a little bit more love,
And who am I to deprive it of that?
Mar 15, 2022
Mar 15, 2022 at 11:26 PM UTC
27
Morns like these—we parted—
Noons like these—she rose—
Fluttering first—then firmer
To her fair repose.
Never did she lisp it—
It was not for me—
She—was mute from transport—
I—from agony—
Till—the evening nearing
One the curtains drew—
Quick! A Sharper rustling!
And this linnet flew!
4k
It has to be better than this
The lemonades are turning to dust
Silverlinings have all rained down
Life's got to be bigger than this
The flower that once was
Now a thorn sharper than dead dreams
Stabbing all hope
This dark vacuum is ******* me in
I'm holding on to the last beam of light
But my grip is slipping and I'm scared
Aren't things supposed to work out?
Well begun is now all undone
(Los Angeles, Aug 22 2017)
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 3:43 PM UTC
Mayday: two came to field in such wise :
'A daisied mead', each said to each,
So were they one; so sought they couch,
Across barbed stile, through flocked brown cows.
'No pitchforked farmer, please,' she said;
'May cockcrow guard us safe,' said he;
By blackthorn thicket, flower spray
They pitched their coats, come to green bed.
Below: a fen where water stood;
Aslant: their hill of stinging nettle;
Then, honor-bound, mute grazing cattle;
Above: leaf-wraithed white air, white cloud.
All afternoon these lovers lay
Until the sun turned pale from warm,
Until sweet wind changed tune, blew harm :
Cruel nettles stung her angles raw.
Rueful, most vexed, that tender skin
Should accept so fell a wound,
He stamped and cracked stalks to the ground
Which had caused his dear girl pain.
Now he goes from his rightful road
And, under honor, will depart;
While she stands burning, venom-girt,
In wait for sharper smart to fade.
4k
*The words they speak
are sharper than blades
And their looks,
daggers that could tear a skin
Their eyes are blind,
can't see what's inside*
Like shadows they creeped
Stabbing backs and innocence deemed
Always lurking in the darkness
Justice they served
but lives diminished
*Your flaws are
something they gaze
The truth made me daze
The word equality is no
longer in their vocabulary
How can they fire bullets
without thinking the lives
they perceived
Trash in their brains
are twirling like a tornado
slowly messing their thoughts
slowly killing feelings, everywhere they go*
Dictated by their own free will
Cowered in fear as they
thought it was real
What they've seen,
deception in mutilation
Power overrule by those who torture
Torturing minds, creating lies
The innocent happily flying kites
But they cut it with pure contempt
Convincing they will get
that chance again
"Listen to the words you seek
Don't listen to a word they say
Do NOT listen to a word you've heard
Do not listen to a word you've heard
People are people we live for our own
Live how you think not by what you've been told"
*In God's eyes we're all the same
where do you think we all came?*
Don't let them fool you
By their tools of deception
We are all the same
We will die someday
So maybe, it's time for a change.
-Adele Karla & Erenn
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
Ice can be cooling and calming and free.
Ice can protect and and aid
destiny.
Ice can be slicing and savage and wild.
Ice can slaughter - man, woman or child.
Ice can be mild and mellow and fresh.
Ice can give refuge from Summer's hot mesh.
Ice can be crueler and sharper and cold.
Ice can decide not to favour the
bold.
Our icy opinions are all black or white,
But grey ice in grey Winter hides in a grey night.
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
By day he wore a face of stone,
a man at work, a man at home.
Mid-tier, mid-forties, fading fast,
a shadow built to never last.
Unseen, unseen, the hours crawled,
his name half-heard, his voice forestalled.
Reliable. Invisible.
Forgettable. Admissible.
But night —
night gave him another skin,
a grinning mask, a skeleton grin.
Blurry selfies, pumpkin puns,
cheap delights for midnight ones.
And they laughed.
They saw.
He mattered more
than the man he’d left behind the door.
She answered louder than the rest,
late-twenties, lonely, dispossessed.
Her laughter quick, replies too fast,
his irony returned as gospel, cast.
“I know this isn’t you,” she said.
“I want the man who hides instead.”
He recoiled.
Deleted.
Ghosted.
Fled.
But silence is a mask that turns,
and absence is a fire that burns.
3:33, the phone alight,
a skeleton meme each waiting night.
3:33, a plastic hand,
a note enclosed: You’ll understand.
3:33, the offering grows —
a pumpkin smashed, its seeds exposed.
Her love became a ritual rhyme,
his jokes became a curse in time.
“You don’t get to leave,” she swore,
“You owe me you, forevermore.”
And he —
the man who sought the crowd,
who wanted laughter, not too loud,
who craved the gaze but feared the weight,
found every mask could seal his fate.
No one is innocent here, no one.
Not the trickster, not the one undone.
He wore deception like a shield,
she made obsession her battlefield.
Now only one mask still remains —
cheap plastic grin through windowpanes.
Spoopy, childish, still, absurd,
yet sharper than his final word.
The curtains gap, the silence bends,
a tilted grin that never ends.
And he knows, beneath the grin so slight:
her mask will never leave the night.
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 4:41 AM UTC
Masochism is my favorite way to love; I adore deeply the one that is eager to leave me in the dust for his superficial passions. I cry infinitely as the rain over the Pacific, but it does not storm. It only blinds me with stinging tears that make a shore invisible. I had you wrapped around my finger, and you slipped off like an oversized ring, falling between the spaces of a gutter to travel sewers of risk; rank with the smell of doubt and returning loneliness. I travel these sewers barefoot with your risks up to my ankles, searching for you, my ring, dress hiked up to run as if you hadn't already seen such exposed leg. But only I splash. My lover is elusive. When he trembles in anger, he comes to me; when I tremble, he only flees. He does not understand his debts. I do, only I don't wish that he pay. My kindness is self-mutulation, for I know he will not appreciate my generosity. I think of him while he daydreams of riches and soaks in his wanderlust. I am simply a piece, a fragment, a speck of dust swimming among many in a ray of sunlight. I am not something he truly wishes to strive for. This murders me, and smashes my already broken heart into smaller, sharper pieces that seem harmless, but develop greater capacity to cut flesh.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
And then I woke up.
I woke up one day
and everything was different,
Finally there was colour again.
-
I could see silver in the clouds,
Emerald in the grass,
Topaz painted across the mountains on the horizon.
Sapphire in the sky and obsidian amongst the stars.
I was alive again.
-
This time I'll be better,
My armour thicker,
My wits sharper,
My fists unscathed,
My tongue poisonous,
like the biblical snake upon the ear of eve.
I am born again,
I'll run each day,
Train each day.
I'll eat only the finer foods,
For nutrition and not taste.
All the while my mind will be honed, sharpened like a ****** blade.
Chemistry, biology, physics, mathematics.
I'll lay the stepping stones towards Valhalla,
My path towards the übermensch.
N.H.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
World was different in my sensible planet.
Imagined things, that I had never done yet
Cells of my thoughtless mind,
Took another direction to reach the destination.
Scrambled up everything with satisfaction.
Money is the need, helped them to think darker and deeper.
Losing weight and making them sharper to climb up the ladder.
So many losers were ahead,
I was one of them, once who wanted to fly;
But leaving dreams away, living in a world of lie.
Now I'm the thirsty monster moving ahead to that crown.
Storm and thunder helped my arms and ammunition to drown.
Clearing up the ladder now,
I have to run for the next period of madness.
Where I need to be the beast, full of suspense
One day that man behind me will reach here soon.
That will be the last night when I can see the ***** face of the moon.
Achievements have flown away,
Carried treasures along and asked me to leave.
Time is near when I have to sleep in the wooden grave.
Another monster is coming towards me with lots of desire
But I'll not run away this time that I had done all these years.
Bright sun is waiting for me,
Happiness of my cells and organs is going to end.
Every brick will fall down by making every visions bend.
Still I didn't run yet to those things what I wanted.
The time has come to grab the happiness, I had never attended.
Foolish people! Live with fools.
I'm going out of reach, leaving sadness for you all.
To live in my desired world, without any wall.
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 1:10 AM UTC