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Adam M Snow Sep 2014
I Wait for Thee
Written by Adam M. Snow

In stillness -- I wait for thee.
When time beat still -- I wait for thee.
When my troubles are great
and burdens my heart;
if my voice would leave me astray,
still this day -- I wait for thee.
When sickness strickens me,
bedridden and weak -- I wait for thee.
Through many quaint of restless nights -- I wait for thee.
When I'm old and wizened, and my memories flee,
still my Lord, I wait for thee.
In a crowd of many or by my lonesome self -- I wait for thee.
And in my travels through misery,
when the world has grown so dark;
in my days of ridicule, my faith on trial,
I, your bondservant will wait for thee.
And in my final hour with my final breath -- I wait for thee.
With every hour of my life, from now till then -- I wait for thee.
I wait for thee O Lord -- I wait for thee.
Even in my darkened days -- I wait for thee.
http://amsnow.weebly.com
Yenson Mar 2019
A car owner in Nairobi Accra, Ouagadougou or any African city
would, as one drives through potholes and ancient ragged tarmacs
be approached by beggars, street urchins and the poverty strickens
all with hungry faces and rags reeking of miseries and street lifes

With arms outstretched they beg pennies or two for a meal to survive
in the blazing sun hopeless lives look to the cars and those who drives
meal tickets wheezing past impervious to painful rumbling stomachs
in air-conditioned splendor they glide quietly past unmoved as stones

The poor wretched would hiss and snipe in ringing tones and anger
look at you useless person, you stink and you **** that dog you have
your mama is a *****, your father is a donkey and we **** your wife
you can't read and you **** yourself, you are a worthless *******

Some hunger crazed ones will throw stones and spit as cars speed on
again, again these desperados will exercise their right to free speech
Mister, you wet your trousers, you're fat like hippo and you smell
you and that woman, you look so ugly like charcoal and mud statutes

As they hurl insults and jipes at these car owners they found relief
with wide eyes and foaming mouths and rotten teeth they laughed
each cheering the other and high fiving as an original curse spews
it's the frustration of the wretched, it's the anger of those without

But worry not for we have these same forlorn and desperates here
angry, powerless, insignificant people watching successes drive
hating all those they feel is above them, hating those they envy
hating those they wish they could be like, hating their mediocrity

But they don't mill about on dusty roads screaming asinine insults
they go on computers and troll their targets, projecting their pains
flinging defamation and putdowns, hurling demented idiotic slurs
casting doom and despondencies,  accusing others of insecurities  

So like their African kinfolks, the wretched and the poor find relief
mediocre needs to release pent up frustration and pained anger
they need targets to hate and blame, they need distractions to ease
and the troll screen warriors and haters have the computers to thank

Their African kinfolks just want a meal not to waste time and energy writing **** to their envied, that is nonsense ****, they say!
These people too full for their bellies, what is wrong with them
them crazy, maybe their ***** done fall off, maybe they **** dogs
crazy western poor people, no wonder God give them long noses!

Who are we to judge, I'd say...it must be horrible to feel inferior....!!!
Matthew Sutton Oct 2018
Spacial vacuums siphon oxygen from my lungs

This red, white, and blue suit is a temporal abode for a terminal body

My brain is gasping in a crevice devoid of musical vaccines

The veins of my neck are slowly turn grey to match a perceived
environment

Black dots blur-my-vision as I fumble with the radio to signal home

But the shadows of decaying light are pulling away from my fingertips

Electrical impulse has ceased to deliver sensation to my extremities

Cast upon me a lifebuoy - for the gold of my iris’s ring is unstable & therefore unsustainable

Fear strickens my body with the toxicity of a memory’s love widow

The poison of its chemical involuntarily punctures physical holes with rusted knife blade

And as the blood pools
-
my thoughts drown
1/4
Yenson May 2021
No boughs or brambles
strickens or stirs on reflective calm
neither do flippant washes or dense ripples
sway in windless surges on the calmness crystal flow
in translucent clarity starry light cuts from the deep to surface
always the Halleluiah chorus to the dusk and dawn of enlightenment

Foreboding tales in ragged tones
fevered pitches soaked from devoured galled pitchers
tis anthem profane of spooks an song less featherless birds
mourning arid lives and cloaking dressed maelstroms on purity
the sea sails  in a life well tempered away from debris and flotsams
the swirls of squalls thunders onerously and in the deep the centre holds

— The End —