A mix between Adam, and Moses
would be the first man to walk through an ocean,
A Miss who knows all information;
can't be trusted for being misinformation.

A pen seal dropped on the floor;
gets picked up to be a pencil,
A high school dropout learning how to
smoke at school; is in high school.

The whether on the weather;
could be the forecast of doubt,
and this poem was so random,
I guess I'll just end it here.

In every petal lies a tale untold,
Of grace and power intertwined as one.
A world of wonder, fierce and yet so bold,
Where love and strength unite beneath the sun.
In these eyes – I’ve seen a woman’s world…

___

It’s a rose, enchanting, blooms with beauty rare,
Yet danger lurks within its soft embrace.
A tender touch of love, a whispered prayer,
But I ask if it has the strength to hold its place?

Still in quiet thought, I dwell and muse,  
As a man reflects on such; alas his worldly views,  
My words a burden felt heavy, and steep,  
For in such a world, my voice shan’t speak.

tell me about a passionate spirit - I decide when not to die,
especially when dealing with suicide. waste myself, hate myself —
feeling like all the worst things. lose my thoughts, I cannot find
my mind; found a cause, held onto that knife

right now, I cannot breathe, yet still… I'll choose to live —
no more suicides.

Sugar tips, ain't your heart sweet enough.
Biting and bruising in between sheets, no need to be playing it rough.

Your words are of unspoke,
Gripping on your breath I stole from your lips. The essence of your throat.

Kiss as long as we may,
Stealing the words from your mouth you wish to say.

Between foreign lips to my tongue,
I pray not for your bite back doing my own lip harm.

At the ease of embrace,
Pulling closer to feel textures of her beauty's face.

Lips comimg close to be of one,
Tasting of your taste in my mouth, before reaching your tongue.

We fell into a kiss.

my fingers, desperately tracing – tear through the fabric of my sheets;
in my dreams people recite such beautiful poems... oh, how I wish I
could have written them all down. i fought myself in a dream battling
my own spirit to awaken, but all I was able to write down was...

                                                         ­  silence!

now, I yearn to return to that ephemeral instant, riding the rails of my
mind – a train of thought; aboard a back train seeking the lost echoes
of my backed-up thoughts.

                                        that last train to find a another poem!

The Apple of season in a nearby garden of Eden. What if I found my Eve, to share my seeds? In the odds of love, I might find it, to call it all even. As wherever I plant myself, the character shows. In a world filled with weeds, and roses. The harshness is really just people's thorns.

I might fertilize my imaginations; for all my offspring's dirt.
Just to give them a better start, to live on this Earth. A tiny mustard seed, that nobody expects. But when you make it big, everybody is throwing their respects, and claiming you're the best. Like Adam to his Eve; I do my bad, and have to leave.
Even when I'm on my knees, I feel I don't pray enough if they don't bleed.

But maybe like Eve to her Adam; life goes on when things are tragic. Sharing the Apple of sin, as the story goes. We all know that conclusion, because it's all already happened.

Still we learn from the happenings of what once happened. The only bite I'm willing to share; is the bite of passion.

Let the seeds grow; of their fruits that will show. And if the bad fruits are too many, I guess the tree has to go. But from how far these offspring have come, there's still hope for us all.

Now it's time to grow!

The sound of a feeling; "I love you"
The touch of a look; "beauty brushing my eyes"
The scent of an action;  "smelling your intentions"
And the taste of a sound; "my sweetest nothings"

Love tickles all of these senses.

The eye of the storm-
Reins one's worry
See beyond,
behind the chaos is the Calm.

In blades of grass—so young under the tears of sky.
Shattered, fragile in a forest made of glass.

Under a moon's walking due; as the sphere of Sun's pass.
I throw my heart's mass into the winds whisper—guided
in the voice of above compass.

I shall unmask beauty pinned in the skies, painted in the
natural scent of Earth. I yearn as the birds; singing a pleasing
song of day's first. The last sweet symphony till the earth is
no more. Before the Collapse.

Let me die singing to thy Lord,
in the following song of Heaven's chords.

I am suicide,

entangled on the wrong line of conversation – 1-800-273-8255.
My existence crumbles, while my life is degrading; emotions
constantly rearranging, while death lingers, with due patience.
I am the impure linen stained with the tears of pain. I am the
cacophony of voices in my own brain, the picture of love, yet
my heart beats with a hollow rhythm, feeling so plain.

I am time,

as it twists and bends, mirroring the sharp twist of a knife by
my side. I am unkind to myself – hate myself in secret, but in
public I always smile so bright. My happiness is a reflection –
I am the moon, a distant memory, until you remember a
beautiful night.

I am poison,

the chlorine of sorrow, and so wasted in my wasteful tears.
Each breath is heavy with the weight of my fears, I am a grave
to bury my griefs. I am sometimes a religious person, with iffy
beliefs. I struggle to believe in myself, as often as I can believe
in others, while my dreams fade into monochrome colours.

My mind runs around wanting to die, yet I cling to the will
to create; on what I can write. To write is to stay alive!

My energy; do be spared of positive & negative charges,
as my eyes are polarized, amid lost feelings and wisdom gained.
A polaroid picture; as the sight of it, had to develop its
own film strip, of all my past memories.

Every thought plays out so carelessly, like a child
running in a candy store; the sweetest notion of a touch,
a heart smitten by the rush of an unforeseeable crush,
— crushed & pressed.

Yet; by the similar fashion of the pressure a lover gets,
when addressing their feelings; my own words feel overdressed;
as the formal appearance of a necktie and blazer.
Doing my best to suit the petition of love; it seems the attire
should have been a bulletproof vest, to protect my naked chest.

Still I’m liken to finding my actions uniform;
as an acquired fit, that mustn’t take all love the same.
But rather be consistent, and conforming to these set standards:
trust, openness, communication, boundaries & compromises.

For there is no greater selfish love, than the one, where one
party receives the fullest love; choosing not to let go of some.

It could prove wise, to avoid such matters of the heart;
for the heart is made of matter; the universal mass to be in love,
and how you treat love, does indeed affect the volume of set heart.

Picture frame of ugliness – but not what the world sees,
when your paint yourself under your insecurities.
Does that make you a coward; or are their eyes
the cowards, too afraid to see the real picture of
themselves?

societal expectations, and passive judgments –
behold their critical gaze; yet so are the eyes that can’t
stare themselves in the face. so too, blinded by their
own fears, and personal insecurities.

But as you start to peel away at the metaphoric picture
frame, retracing their hidden layers of drawn over
strokes of new paint - embracing vulnerability;

I'm between finding myself in my inner self-criticism,
and external judgments – I could be the picture of the
prettiest flowers, and hoping one day I learn to paint
myself under the brushstrokes of security, and
vulnerability!

my picture is finally complete!

Cheaters smile the loudest, their lies are the sweetest, their misdeeds
are the quietest – lest it be the ones who get caught. Cheaters play
victim the proudest, their excuses are the longest, their faithfulness is
the shortest – they promise to change, but its short-change.

Cheaters can be the secret sexter; the guys with mistresses, the girls
with a current boyfriend, ready to reply to the other guy with a,
“yes sir,” then introducing them to you as just their friend.

Cheaters love to receive their flowers; being ready to sprout out
looking for more; so rich in wanting more from you – while their
attitude is so poor.

You can pour out your heart to a girl, just for her to spill tea with an
ex; you can listen to a guy pour out his love for you; while he's
hoping his glass of affections, earns him a night of ***.

And unfortunately as you make a deposit of your heart, waiting for
love to withdraw – others bank on the interest of seeing, you without
draws. Heavy is the crown of their ill thoughts; heavy are the lies
waiting in their jaws.

Cheaters happen to be those you thought you had known!

Tangled thoughts – I love
your beautiful strands of hair,
And not having them tangled in
my fingers, leaves me so stranded.

I can’t help these tangled thoughts;
thinking about your curls.

falling shadows
howling holes—heart's chasm
gaps in teeth, bites of time
in the cavity of a mouthful successes

written in a journal of fears
not to fear death, but a death of dreams
not to fear easy give, but to easily give in
not to fear tomorrow, but a yesterday's repeat
to pen my thoughts, penning words at fault
                   ....my poetry is a journal of fears

Freedom at no cost,
an escape not held by price.
A slave to this harsh living,
every breath like chains shaking.

Freedom from negative emotions,
the many that keep me down.
Self known for battling depression,
freedom I fight for, (to be alive again).

Freedom from many pains,
heartbreaks, disappointments, many regrets.
Many things keep me captive,
none of which should control me.
Why then do I call them my master?

Freedom I must obtain,
from a forced burden as a slave.
My will, (willing to be brave),
The sweet taste of freedom I'll have one day.

Now...

I can't sleep; because of it.
I can't wake up happy; because of it.
I can't breathe; because of it.
I can't move; because of it.
I can't eat; because of it.
I can't live; because of it.
I can't make new friends; because of it.
I can't be alone; because of it.
I can't deal with large crowds; because of it.
I can't be me; because of it,
But I'm not defined as a person; because of it.

I'm not worthless; because of it.
I'm not weak; because of it.
I'm not a fool; because of it.
I'm not an outcast; because of it.
I'm not less of a dreamer; because of it.
I'm not the only one suffering; because of it.
My life's struggles may be the cause of it,
But I'll do so many things because of it.

I'll choose to push on; because of it.
I'll choose to smile; because of it.
I'll cry at night sometimes; because of it.
I'll constantly be inspired; because of it.
I'll craft masterpieces; because of it.
I'll comfort others in the same boat; because of it.
I'll continue to be the advocate for change; because of it.

And my depression is the cause of many things;
all the good, bad and moderate.

As all you see of me; is because of it.

I rummaged through my wallet, checking if my card
was still nestled safely inside. “Yep, it’s here,” I muttered,
counting the cash I had on hand, just in case the card
decided to let me down.

Ah, our first date; my nerves were a whirlwind,
as I had never really ventured out with girls before.
A milestone in so many ways—my first date with a girl,
the inaugural use of my own credit card, and the first
time my hard-earned money spent on someone other
than myself or my parents.

And if I play my cards right, it might just
lead to our first kiss.

I’ve been wanting to die –
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…

Greetings, O Death, why do you not approach? You are aware of my
depression, and we both recognize I’m such a mess; speaking from
my chest, while my heart is shielded by a metaphorical bulletproof
vest. I am shattered in this tomb-like gloom; those funeral regrets of
not having the power to decide if I’ll be dressed at my level of best.
The residue of sorrow clings to my breath, like coal dust – as every
train of thought rides the tracks of my morbid dreams of death.

But do you know the sound of pain – those around me seem so deaf,
even as I look like a piece of parched land; my eyes are a dry red -
I have no real tears left.

I’ve been wanting to die –
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…

Hey there, can you hear me now? These words may seem utterly
absurd, yet I strive to have my voice heard, like a solitary soul lost
among the herd. But maybe a gun to the head can make me seem so
heard – you know I’m just so hurt. Your silence lingers, and in this
suffocating darkness, that once-bright flame of passion feels so burnt.
I find myself devoid of tears, breath, or any glimmer of hope, and
though I rarely swear, I feel as if I am under a curse.

Lately, my inner demons have become my closest equals; my friends
feel more like other people– and this is the hardest part of my life,
that death seems so simple.

I’ve been wanting to die –
But it’s been taking so much time,
So, I rang up suicide…

In the spaces between my breaths, there’s heavy pauses; as I give out
a lot of fake poses. Here I stand, at the intersection of my loneliness,
waiting for you, in hand – a bunch of roses. I’ve had to force myself to
accept these ungodly forces – trying to worship, even as I view my
existence as a sea full of war ships.

But maybe you shouldn’t call my line – when I’m hanging with
family, that have me feeling like hanging myself; it was a folly,
pretending to them that I was always fine.

Until we cross paths again someday. Bye!

You were once my everything – everywhere. A whisper of a voice,
now a ghost in the air; you reigned supreme over my thoughts, –
my mind was your throne, your beauty an heir. I leaped into the
depths of your heart, clad in a jumpsuit, forsaking the safety of a parachute – and thus, I plummeted into your love from the moment
we first crush. I was but a mere pebble next to your rock, dwarfed by
your strength; shattered by your stability, reduced to mere dust.

My skin, now tarnished like rust – the remnants of my words
mingling with the oxygen I struggled to breathe, left gasping in your
breath-taking presence. Tears welled in my eyes, mourning the loss
of you, while the iron resolve it took to finally move on felt like an
eternity… from a love that must have been so rushed?

And yet, I still cling to hope;

You were once my everything – everywhere. But now I find my
heart adrift, lost in this wind to nowhere.

The first crushes we had,
later on life broke our hearts.
Not like we'd ever get that far,
but the furthest we ever get to
is baring these scars.

"My nice guy",
often too nice to get the girl.
Watching the bad boy steal her soul, really works the nerves.
We were the ones to know what she really deserves,
but the picture of that never occurs.

So we gave up on chasing girls we couldn't afford,
spending most of our time on other goals.
Shooting shots once in awhile,
not for anything much. Just to give a girl a smile.
Writing love letters, and buying chocolate for Valentine's.
"Would you be mine for the occasion?
Oh you have a boyfriend. Well then never mind."
I don't see what you see in him,
while he's too focused on the features outside.

Try my luck with another girl,
so quick to be curved.
She bent me out of shape,
I set my emotions aside for you, put my heart on reserved.

Learning from past experiences,
watching bad boys get the girls.
"You can't be serious!?"
Quite obvious he'd play your heart, but you seemed so delirious.
None of my business, I already lost interest.
No profit I found, just some empty pieces.

But I'm still the "Nice Guy",
been the Mr himself for quite a while.
Thinking I suffer from late denial.
Casing the situation. But I already lost that trial.
Knowing you'll cry so quickly on my shoulder,
and I'll be so dumb to smile.

Afterwards tell me you wish you could meet a guy like me.
Pretty sure I'm the one to be,
but with all those tears, it must be hard to see.
You'll walk off like you and I could never be,
acting if I wouldn't make the best of company.

Shoot me down by calling me a brother.
Fine I guess, when you're a hot mess.
My mistake was being good friends with your mother.
You'll go to find somebody else.
Oh well! I bet it won't work out as well.

"Mr Nice Guy", just nurses the wounds.
Goes misunderstood, but still keeps a smile.
What more can he do?

A tale of Mr Nice Guy.

Three things I can’t live without…

Coffee, Creativity & Church

For coffee fuels my creativity;
My creativity comes from my worth –
A worth I only learnt of, going to church.

A voice levy—to impose a fee on speaking freely.
My breath is so heavy, as my bones take on another
burden. Searching in the confines of a world not letting
me be.

A Christian that has been castrated; as you'd assume
I never had the testies to speak my father's truths.
The world has test me plenty times as a youth, before
my ***** even dropped. This part may penetrate some
sensitive hearts, so let me stop.

Perhaps you'd call me being too religious.
My religion isn't based on a bound by monastic vows.
Tis of relationship I have with my God. Filled with His
holy spirit, after being saved by His son's loving grace.
But alas you'd still call me being too religious either way.

But that's okay—I'll turn the other cheek.
Do it as many times as like in rinse and repeat. I can follow
those lessons of the Bible, but please don't hit me with,
"well aren't you a Christian," when I'm at my lowest.
I'm a Christian, but human too. I'm also going through it too.
Do I still seem being too religious to you?

Perhaps I'm being too religious to speak any real truth.
You'd call me selfish, if I said I don't speak truth for
me or you. I speak truth for my creator, but saying that
would create tension. When I speak of repentance to a sinner,
a part of me expects aggression. But I see that you're empty,
and hope to lead you into being filled by the Lord. But I'd seem
to full of myself, and a fool to try and save a sinner. At fault for
being a Christian, as you'd love to say, being too religious.

I guess I'll always be too religious.

Zip tie lock your legs- anchor down your stress;
change the fabric address of that nice sunny dress
Body full of blows, skin made of dust; counting on hope,
joy, and sorrow, every after hour of the day’s settled dusk
From telling thin lies from the thick of red lips on a reed,
to all those gears of ideas start to shift away- taking steps
in reverse, when everything is exposed of your old deeds

Tears in the river of tiny ripples to the sound of love;
to be honest it’s an unfamiliar sound- 3,500 mites;
become a float of those ticking ideas. Scrums around the
clock, sharing bread crumbs with old chums— those few
who actually stuck around

As time starts to show, on the flakes of skin, the loss of
strong hairs; you feel much older to a recent picture-
the unfamiliar creature, invisible to so many people
But with a smile, you appreciate all the places you have
been. You must be ready to meet your King…

Your fiery surface burns
at the taste of my tongue.
I've tasted love,
making feast of who you are.

Starved of your love,
far too long. The longing hurts.
Bent out of shape,
these days missing your curves.

I crawl at your love,
far before I learn to walk.
I felt your claws dig into me,
far enough for the pain to pour.  

Longing now for more.

Whether it be longing or lust,
my body turns to ashes.
As for my heart,
goes along in the wind as dust.

her style is cold figure
kisses that are a heat seeker –
we lock eyes and I’m so eager
     our passion is equal, though I’m

divided

between which parts of her I love the most
"your soul is what holds it all"
in every action she does; smell, taste, sight,
sound or touch –
                   I hear her soul’s call.

Act as if I'm not moved by movies,
how'd that play out if it's not seen
Flip away the motion,
picture me stuck in a box of a T.V screen.

Why I speak like this,
is a person who often lives remote.
Losing control
as I try to channel every emotion.
People live to have no Parental Guidance,
all live their lives watching in due caution.

We've rated ourselves explicit,
our actions can be offensive content
The biggest of man profits from
the suffering of others.
The world is like one filled with many vultures.

The stage is set,
love in this picture shouldn't be misplaced.
Lights, camera, action!
Give your all of true love,
until none is left.
Life didn't come with scripted lines,
we can't always imitate all that we've read.

BUT,

We all have a role to play,
do be weary of the size
No matter the camera time,
play your role well to the fullest.
At the end of life,
hold high that Academy Award prize.

When all is said and done,
you'll be known as part of a "great people"
Live this one life well, there's no sequel.
When all is said and done,
you'll know, "That's a wrap people"

the sweet scent of flowers
grazes the finely thinned hairs of a lover
while a butterfly flits in their stomach ready
to tie that uncomfortable knot…

                               she has fallen in love.

My existence is non-existent;
Life, is just a puzzle of reasons,
trying to connect the conclusion
to your own existence.

I should feel eligible, close to
The means of incredible, even if
I can't read all of the signs of being
illegible; devoured by time, feeling
so edible.

                                                        ­   Their tears are threads tied to a soul,
                                                         Like falling rains – all emotion pours,
                                                    Highs are weighed down by many lows
                                                           And a tongue is as lethal as the gun;
                                                         the gun still lives within these laws
                                                   So permission to shoot a shot; fall in love
                                                 but keeping the charm to impress in-laws.

                                                   Extra bullets for bullet holes,

The heart surely practices having kids
Before having kids; it’s just sad to see, kids
Raising kids – as the family needs don't
really show what, "family," means– just
another short story of familiar griefs.

I am a hanging thread, hanging onto life,
in this delicate fabric of existence; concealed in a shirt.
The fibres strain, so be gentle, for a harsh tug may
unravel my very depth.

Sewn together by dreams, woven with the strands
of hope, my soft cotton faith absorbs the anguish
that surrounds me.

I am a hanging thread, hanging on for dear life –
with a singular, poignant message to impart:

Hang in there!

I am a poetic heart that wants to speak in prose – about the pros
and cons about being in love, or being alone. But don't you go
tripping on your words; you might just fall in love tonight. And
I know her girlfriend is going to preach to me tonight, and I might
just listen to avoid another fight.

She knows I've got a contraband of controversial thoughts, and I
wonder if I ever manage to cross the border, will I find my mouth?
While closing my eyes to the sun— the horizon never felt so dark!
But if we cross swords to spar, could we eventually make a spark?

But when your tears are burning in my hands; which blisters do I
call my scars, while losing the bite for time; like all the missing teeth
you find on the floor of popular bars.

I look in the mirror, and it still asks me who I am; whether or not
I'll choose to follow old plans — should the white in my eyes look
at all the things I like, and conquer those lands? But my black dots
are still slaved to themselves; when we seem to be strangers to
ourselves. I still shut my eyes when I look at myself!

Harsh are these words, but what great Truth doesn’t hurt a little:
the promises of people today, will only be the hurt for you tomorrow,
the debt that people owe you, is often paid by the words of a forgotten
promise; even for all the love you hope to give out- its only by
a wishful wish, that you’ll get your fare share back,

There’s a note to take of the friends that will let down you,
those family members who will discard you, all the people who
will critic you, the love of past lovers that will break you, the words
that make you a victim, said from those who want to play bigger victims;
the good you so desperately try to do, to get so much bad in return,

To those you put all of your trust in, some can be trusted to
hurt and wound you, the sun will be your spotlight on top your fears,
the moon will cry with you in silence, the bath water will account for
all your tears, the snakes will sing you praises with a jagged smile,
life will chastise you; hope will forget you sometimes, time will question
you each day, age will starve you of youth, the living will grow intolerant
during your time of mourning, as death will forever remain patient for you…

                                                          These are but just life’s great Truths.

We look to the sky,
wishing to touch a piece of the sun.
Has the sun not touched us?
God like the Sun is always there,
even in the darkness.

The rays we feel,
his unconditional love for us.

You are loved no matter,
who you are, where you are.
And in whatever situation you're going through.

God is great, and greatly loves us.

I heard the darkness was freeing – for in it you cannot see your
mistakes; and would I be wrong to assume that’s where *******
children are made?

I heard the darkness was freeing – that even if you looked at your
ugly reflection, that part of yourself would always seem so far
away…

       The dark, can be uncomfortable – sometimes; but also warming
   in your worst times – all you can do is withstand the slow erosion
of your happier memories; the darkness has seen me bare; it has
cradled my tears, and for a fleeting moment, it made me feel loved,
only to turn its back and betray.

I heard the darkness was freeing – for when you felt like nothing,
you could be a peaceful nothing in this endless nothing place

I heard the darkness was freeing – it grants me a semblance of
acceptance, allowing me to revel in the very things that bring me
shame – oh, how I ought to flee from this place, yet it soothes the
burdens of the day.

I am the sacrifice of my own scars –
A case of my own insecurities; an awkward custody
Judged by the eyes unseen to my quiet depression;
As the voices are much louder in the silence of night

Like the walls of a lung breathing in and out,
…inhale…exhale…inhale more…exhales the most
I take in the ill spoken of me, letting out a smile of love

Part of the whole process; how I process most of my life
To contribute in the same fantasy, that everything is okay,
Or whatever…

A coat that is ready in days of being under the weather
A pulled face waiting for a fourth sneeze tickling a nose
It never really comes…

And maybe I’m also feeling so trapped –
But who really knows?

…don't give an F to the world, as it will only play you out so flat. it's a
place where young men are taught from a tender age to think with a
D, as if that's the major key to success – we desperately need some
minor adjustments in all our mindset's metronome

life:

the stark black and white hues, like the keys on a piano, as
everyone tries to ascend their scale of freedom. so often, I find myself
pondering what melodies, the piano man in the sky composes as he
watches over us, his fingers dancing effortlessly across the celestial
keys – harmonies to echo through the universe

our heart’s compositions reflect a symphony of your own human
emotions, those blending notes of joy, sorrow, love, and hope – a
beautiful crescendo of one’s life journey. but we live as a fleeting
chord in the vast symphony of the cosmos, hoping to play each note
with delicate precision and purpose

the music within and around you, could guide you through the
harmonies and dissonances of life. fighting the silent chaos in your
head – or being the distracting sound of chaos from all your worries
                             this grand life piano.

By the odds of life; tell me what are the odds
you’ll know the rhythm of a bee’s heartbeat –
And as you skip a stone across the water's surface,
would the river’s heart skip a beat?

know that all of creation are alive too…

I am alive too, as my skin feels beat; self-discipline
is no easy feat – for the flesh is weak, but has the
strength to torment your mind the entire week.

But we are more than skins; capable of beating
the odds, of giving to our skins.

On these eve; child born of ******' womb,
A light of birth, to death and risen from tomb.

Shepherds behold, of the angels of their night,
Wise men behold, of a guiding star' light.

Behold child of glory, resting in babe' bed,
In straws he shall lay, of king' crown on head.

Behold the son of man where he lay,
The Lord Jesus was born today.

I've searched for many things,
many of which I've tried to hold.
My vigor was strong,
a diligent miner seeking for precious gold.

But I hadn't found enough.

Within range of my human labor and skill,
I did my all to attain wisdom.
Climbed the highest of mountains,
all of which weren't high enough.
The highest peak only comes by
revelation from God.

All these human efforts weren't enough.

I met with wisdom,
soon after meeting with God.
Things that perplex me,
do not perplex Him.
Mysteries that surround me,
are no mystery to Him.

I was in awe. In awe more than enough.

He authors true wisdom,
so effortlessly, like a work of art.
All revealed to me
by the knowledge of the mind of God.

All that felt more than enough.

God. Endlessly rich with
wisdom at his disposal.
Wisdom and power through the
design of the natural world.
True wisdom comes from God,
by being in right relation with Him

(The fear of the Lord)

A key to Wisdom,
all that was unlocked was when
I was in relationship with God.

I truly now know the Source of Wisdom.

Peeping through blinds, double tap what I like,
—but less active in being interactive
A lot of people are so attractive,
—but funny how I'd say that after they're shaking their *****
Its still for the masses; holding a hunger so massive
as those you tend to like, put you on a list of
their passes

DM sliding into slippery situations,
hoping to get a response from a like on my comments
Still that’s not what I’m about,
—but as I’m feeding my eyes, scrolling on feeds
Not every picture is as reel,
—but unlike a tear on my skin, every unappealing
factor I feel is so real
It's just a thrill, I hate to have at times, and appearing
a thirsty guy

So maybe I'll just leave a nice comment about
the beauty of life, even it doesn't get a reply
And the response to recent posts is staring at the background
with a set of emoji eyes

Cover upon the covering,
under the canopy of the Lord, let my lips
speak words honouring.
Faithful and true, and his mass—I am secure.

I've tasted a love so pure—honey dripping,
and anointed in oil. My centre is Jesus, in every
facing turmoil.

There isn't a battle I'll face alone.
No weapon of the enemy shall come to pass,
even the daggers formed to persecute me of my past.

I trust the all of my Lord; in every word,
the motion of destiny written by his hand.
Despite the broken promises of man, not everything
I see is said to last. But the eternal of my God isn't set in a
time of fragile glass.

And even at my brokenness, he will work in me;
as He has strengthen me over thoughts of worthlessness.

I thank the working of the Lord!

Aim for my heart, calling Heaven above; an angel has
left me to tears, down on my knees- racing across a
bridge reaching out to my heart. My eyes have been thrown
into a sea, deep down until I drown, in the depth
of her passion- it’s her world in my eyes I see

As she touched the most sensitive part of me, this nuptial
union; we are only human, seeking to multiple- there’s
always that desire of creation in both our eyes. We’re now
together— alone at last; to reproduce our life’s kind,
and putting ease to restless minds

Her kiss of oxygen turns into flames- I turn off the lights,
and still see her body glow; skins smooth as silk- free
from these robes, to a sight of her that soothes my tongue
And with a coy smile, we’ll rekindle the fire of our body’s
fireplace once again, tonight

Heaven always too high,
down on earth acting
like I got seven lives.
I don't really fear death less I
see death in the sky.

That's the forecast of the season
hoping we make out this spring,
We're all out here hoping and believing,
We see the better light of the sun
hoping this season isn't so dim.
Counting the stars in the sky,
for the ones we betting our dreams on.
Don't we always love to act so ply,
bent over ourselves by our demons
And where they come from,
like the places we try to hide.

Let's all gather around
in this upside-down world,
What you see is only a flipped idea,
how isn't that profound?  
Far below us, an intellectual arrangement to the fold.

Seems we're all bending the
rules of life,
A risk we seem to be taking,
forgetting the consequences once in the afterlife.

I'm just spit balling here,
so cover your face
I'm not running away from life,
just out for the chase,
Tell me if there's any of you like that
out there?

A tune playing on and on in my head, reminds me of you,
just going to let it play on and on till I do not know what to do.
Going to let my heart take me far away without leaving my mind,
Just to be close to you once more and love a woman so kind.

A woman like no other that every man wishes he had,
The woman I would leave it all behind and never feel so sad.
And I will admit that you tease my heart but I still love this feeling,
just don't let my words go to waste, please baby, don't leave me pleading.

Pleading to have you now, I can no longer wait,
My heart is aching just to be the one you love and a love we call fate.
And excuse me for being the man you see so needy
but I must admit that I love you so much,
And your no lover as such.

A lover like no other because they all act the same,
All trying to win the major love game.
And I've been playing for far too long,
but I'm getting close to my end,
Because this love has become more than a friend.

Bones into the many ashes
dust in amongst the surface
The tithes of time; in service
of the hands running on the clock
Church bell hyms to the mountain
tops of heavens close to the hills
Oh Churchill- searching in my eyes of a servant; serving a King

                  ...I rise in bravery on this hill

| Your body at first a stranger to my foreign kisses
   Learning how to speak another language in French kisses
  Ice cream painted lips of cherry lipstick, for licking kisses
I've inhaled your passion many a times in breath kisses
   And catching all stomach butterflies of butterfly kisses

Turn the lights a little low- you'll have a morning glow,
  from the bathroom, on the sofa, and the carpet floor
Rubber bands in my hand, trying to stretch you out; I had
     a lot to say, but the words got lost in your mouth
Hold my supplies, and grind on my belt—point the places
I never felt. Watching shivers of ice on your back slowly melt

| Your eyes running like bath water
   Want to dive deep in your thoughts like pool water
   Trying to train myself to breathe under water
      Pocket full of love- can't you see like sea water
Trying to quench my thirst like you're a glass of water
      And I hope you drown me in that body water

Singing a chorus of that body's natural tone,
about to overload, over the low areas sending tingles
  to already curling toes. I smelt the readiness of your body
   with the drips of scent stuck on my nose. Open to close
  the deal- peeling slowly your heavy clothes
      Entwining both of our ready and longing souls

|  Velvet skin-smooth and teasing to every bite
      Sensations running under skin in a sensitive bite
     Marking all the places I own with a territorial love bite
      And what's the point of a bark without a harsher bite

     Be at your best, stay at your best, I'd say it with my chest
        at your breast; you obviously guest that we'd lay in
     Our little love nest. Going down your West, and making
         the best effort- leaving nothing less, just to impress