pink blossoms – in the forest of thoughts; I seem
so lost. as a storyteller, I must have consumed a library,
every day is a memory of all that you’ve learned, and
the scriptures on your skin of the Word

where true prophecy reigns – the taste of one’s future
rains, watering faith’s garden. you beautiful tragedy,
making blissful mistakes – life hurts and stresses you
out with heavy thoughts of tomorrow, that you seem
too scared to even let down your hair; it's an anchor

yet in these pink blossoms, any piece of hope blossoms
like a blush on your face – when the slightest beauty
smiles back at your worried face… weary child,
go and pray.

The sky's cheeks touched by a dream –  
Blushing softly and bashfully, in shades
Of pink.

As our love ascends –
You are my heavens; embraced,
Radiating in soft shades of pink.

I left all of my dreams in the fabric;'
   all those sweet nothings for you to wear
Over-sized, baggy, and hanging-
   a perfect outfit with no underwear

My intent grabbed by your attention;
   an affection; blush of cheeks, the taste of lips/
       our escape under the sheets

We're each other's stain'
    can't be removed off each other
     tattoos to one another'
   stuck to each other's skins by every lasting mark

      Stealing my heart,
        just like you stole our pink hoodie

Pink sky; a blushing moon
by the compliments of dusk

By the sun—shown to be overbearing
shadows, chasing behind a tall stranger

The clouds have covered the sightseeing
tour of the journey to a questionable life

A bearing chest of emotions,
bare hairs, and without pride to speak

I feel the crawling sensation of a love sicken
child, under my skin.

You have given me peace from a piece of mind,
a piece of story we're yet to experience

Set opinions on my back, are the setbacks I have
on this love and its resilience

Wishy washy—soaked ideas of a love
I've written about on a Christmas wishlist

A letter in pink, a type of hoping for
good weather for the next day

                         .....perhaps whether I'll find the right love one day

Oh, how utterly enchanting, as sweetness unfurls in the breeze,
A tender caress, as our lips intertwine with such ease.
In the dance of love, we twist and entwine,
An invitation extended, a date so divine.
In simple moments of conversation, our souls intertwine,
Passion ablaze, as we discover hearts aligned.

Pretty are her eyes, seductively caressed by the midnight hour,
Ensnared in labyrinth of time. For those who dare to surrender  
to their allure.

Like a shadow, lurking in the depths of innocence,
A hazy mist of temptation, igniting a burning desire
within the daring soul.

Tonight, the darkness unveils,
Revealing the irresistible glow of your essence.

Our resting fates, lay on our head' two pillowcases.
All my thoughts all seem fast asleep in bliss.
Who would dare, disturb my best peace?
Darling, I hope they all would know you,
Are the most valuable piece in my entire mind.

In the tranquil embrace of night,                                             
our destinies entwined, as our heads rest upon the soft pillows.
Every thought within me slumbers, basking in heavenly tranquility.
No one should dare to shatter the serenity that I have found.
My love, I pray that they all understand the depth of your significance,
For you are the priceless jewel that resides in the very core of my being.

Resting face of desire, and her beauty.
You made all of the boys lose feet and chase.
Such a dame, known more for a name,
And games we could play in Sun' day.
I miss you, as you took your last rest.
All I have, is a last scent on your pink pillowcase.

In the gentle repose of passion, your beauty
shines like a radiant sun.
You ignite a fire within, causing men
to stumble and chase after your allure.
You, my beloved enchantress, known not only for your name but for the irresistible games we played on sunlit days.
Oh, how I yearn for you, as you took your final rest.
All that remains is the lingering scent upon your delicate pink pillowcase, a melancholic reminder of our cherished moments together.

In the ethereal expanse of our daydreams,
Pink and white skies intertwine,
Bound by a ribbon that unites our fingers
In an unbreakable embrace.

Time has etched its marks upon us,
The vibrant hues fading into muted tones.
Silver strands emerge, yielding to
The purity of white, yet the soft blush of
Pink lingers in the heavens above.

We remain tethered to our love, forever
Yearning for the ribbons we once cherished,
Now tucked away in the corners of our hearts.

Lock your promises,
Swear to me you would, keep to your word if you could.

Lock your promises,
Build a bridge of trust to connect us both, show me you took my feelings with the sense of worth.
Swear to me you would, than to rather force me no good.

Lock your promises,
Hide away the Key, keep the secrets I tell you safe for me.
And surely of you I'd plea, and if you had the heart to keep my secrets, you'd fill my heart with glee.

If you'd lock your promises inside a chest, hidden away from all the rest.
Buried deep down in a foreign land beyond the West, I'd think it the best.

Just pinky swear if you could, lock your promises if you would,
To do justice to my already broken heart some good.
I'd think it best you should.

Nosey!
I guess I am,
a boy just wishing to grow into a man.

And by the lies I do tell,
it's growing longer for me to ever fall short
Oh Pinocchio, how could the world ever love us, when all the love in the world feels so bought.

Feelings aside,
hating the mistaken times I've taken the deed of living inside of pride
Never living out of the world,
cause I found it much warmer inside.

A piece of wood thrown into the fire,
till ashes are all what remains
Perhaps tied a knot into these puppet strings,
that never break so easily for their my chains.

Oh Pinocchio, I'm so ashamed.

I've been done in by a sly fox,
buried a lot of my worth, hoping for it all to grown enough to afford a wooden house

And like an foolish ***,
I've kicked my own self.
Oh Pinocchio, I surely wish I could be anybody else.

Like a trick,
the play of hand has made it's deal
And maybe if I question reality enough it might show me what's real.

But I'm so much like an old story the world seems to have forgotten,
much in common with the darkness,
my body much like the same material of this black coffin.

Still forgive my whaling Oh Pinocchio. Shall I swallow my sorrow
Maybe be a little thankful for today, but I'm so remorseful for those days that come after tomorrow.

Oh Pinocchio, could I tie one more knot into the string,
could I spell out what I feel, like your name I spell out every time I sing.

Could I ask my creator to create the better version of me,
if such a thing does exist, how could it be.
In the sense of being able to see.

I'd see to that very future,
wind-up into blowing winds heading there
No longer sitting on my talent, though my material is what I sit on as a comfortable chair.

Oh Pinocchio,
I surely don't know
For I once was you so long before. But I'm not a wooden boy anymore.

The struggle for freedom
is strong as foreign winds.
A shout from the South to the North,
all who have fallen to be free.
Buried beneath this earth of the East and West.

Has it not become to those
of you apparent,
The disease beneath our flesh,
widespread within us all.
A freedom epidemic,
affecting the many captured hearts,
Widespread as a pandemic.

Those who know of such,
never stopping the fight
Only till they're are dead,
leaving those behind alive to continue on the battle.

For as the children now of our forefathers,
we bear to spread freedom
as they once fought for.

A plague of freedom,
children of our forefathers,
We've become the nuisance against constraint.

Be widespread,
widespread of a Plagued Freedom.

Tell me, what it's like finding love – one as easy as finding your
place in the world. “No wait… that’s a terrible analogy.”

Okay tell me, is there such an easy love to find, like attending
an event that came with an open invite? I quietly watch everyone
dancing in the crowd of love. Right now, I don’t know much
about the steps; could we may-be slow dance? “Uhm… I mean
take it slow!”

Sorry, that came out so wrong – and we know for my week heart;
that’s a bit too strong. “Oh snap, I spelt weak wrong.” Maybe its
because the last time I saw you in person, it was a week ago.
“****, it feels that long!”

Anyways, the words in my mouth, clears my throat; though the
sickness still sticks… love? Could we be like two love birds;
just because of this flu. “Okay, that’s a corny bar!”  
“Are your hands sweaty – no?”

It’s a family thing; having sweaty palms. But I promise you,
I’m not secretly falling in love. “We’re friends right?”
  
                                  the many thoughts that plague his nights.

I chose this to be
Of my own expression
Built up by me
Here forth the planned depression.

The question still beckons on me
These growing emotions grow higher as a tree
Paying for Love at the highest of fee
Unlocking the heart but I lost key.

I chose this to be
Caught in the middle of myself trying fight just to be free
I'm not myself when I act like this person
Here forth the planned depression.

The question still beckons on me
I have wide eyes but sometimes I can never really see
Caught in a blinding light like the eyes of a deer.


It's a planned depression
Not yet a lesson
Just my expression
Of a blinding impression
This feeling not for exception
To the world out there it's passive aggressive
Here forth the planned depression.

Life is just the façade of plastic – plastic money; currency crafted
from synthetic dreams, one's plastic love; affections moulded in
artificial forms. Too much of the latter; a toxic one's greatest trait.

Plastic taste; threads of regret cling to my teeth – my palate’s
insides churns; the words of people made of plastic bullets; still
their weight hurts.

Gazes of a select few friends resemble patient crows, observing
the burdens you bear in a plastic bag of your baggage. A course of
those processed foods; processed natural flavours – sprinkle a little
more sugar to add weight to that plastic container.

“You don’t really match my flavour,” I wouldn’t know how it
really tastes – my heart; I’d love to give you a taste, but it’s often
filled with so much hate. And as I try not to break what holds my
food for thought; I keep my dreams on a plastic plate.

But even plastic breaks, just with the right weight.

So tell me, why are you trying to carry the weight of the world?

I’ve tasted the echoes of a flame; inhaling silhouettes of the night’s
smoke; wasting time under the clouds of downhill voices, speaking
low on my worth.Where I recall my mother’s voice as the sturdy
cane of discipline – as we read about disciples who were just
ordinary men; we were orderly raised, where being scolded a
third time about coming to bath at five, was just a part of our
ordinary days. My most trusted companions where the imaginary
friends I made up – who knew they'd get me in trouble, if I was
found talking to myself while I play.

And I don’t feel that old, but nostalgia has been resting on my soul;
the better parts of it, and also the worst – where I grew up with the
biggest fear around girls. Though part of that fear still remains, only
we changed the fear of girls, to a fear of falling in love with the
wrong girl. “But I love her though,” by that statement I'll know
I’ve definitely fallen underneath the floor.

I hardly questioned my flaws; until I grew a little order and started
to be so aware of them all – then I grew a little older, to soon realize
they’re all just a part of us all. And I don’t feel that old, even when
the wisdom I get isn’t always the same wisdom the youth can own –
still I hope their purpose is the one thing they can own.

I have to keep a piece of self-worth in my silver thoughts, interlaced
like a plait – even when I think up a few corny bars; I still see
myself as platinum. Signed here... a Platinum baby.

Please pardon me; when I say, "it's all of me, all of me."
That's just the pride that swallows me; every time you love on
me, hug on me, each time we're cuddling, and snuggling. The
pretty scars look so ugh-gly; and that's not what I want my love
to be; honestly.

Making me wonder, "what the F," of the effort I'm taking; no
mistaking the fools of swine eating bacon. That's the charity
of clarity; giving your heart to all of the crowds, of all those
boys you met around. You've been around. Chasing circles
of where to be; as it seems. Dogs chasing tails; till it gets stuck
in your teeth. There's no peace, but the piece of sorrow; when your feelings were deceased. Diseased by the love sickness; as random kisses was the weakness to your knees.

I'm begging you please,

to stop pretending; that you're not trying to save up your worth
overspending; never-ending story of the people having the seconds of love's sequel. I'm a prequel to thought. What words are in the courts. All the illegal things that we bought; while breaking a few laws. I'm now allergic to a thought, of you giving me goosebumps in my pores.

I paused...

So you could stop playing my heart. Love loves to play with my
heart.

I paused...

Love loves to play with my heart.  Tell me when does it stop?

cracks of silence –
open letter to pain,
closed doors to love
kisses of violence –
tasting it all again

cherubs from above –
devils on my shoulders;
smiles before expected losses
pretend game of true love –
these horns are placeholders
suicidal thoughts in my head
play dead inside – possums.

I'll write a girl a piece of work,
and speak a prayer of no judgement
by her. Lord, don't let another one
call me, "a piece of work"

The emptiness: you’re so longing to leave behind the shadows
left behind your eyes; watching quietly all the things that start
to feel so summarized; building memories on every fibre
of your skin, like towers crashing down in their own defeat
as my eyes watch the young die younger, to feel a bit alive

“Do I see dead people,” be ahead of most people- “do I behead
people,” live a once lonely life, cos it comes with no sequel;
but depression, a subtle prequel- subtracting most successful
friends to feel equal. I fudged up: sugar butter, milk and cream,
but still don’t feel as sweet as enough

Been so hurt and wounded- “something I also know” Felt so
traumatized to act hospitalized- “something I also know”
Done so much good, to get bad in return- “something I also know”
Gave all your trust just to be damaged- “something I also know”
Tomorrow’s sun seems to bring you darkness- “something I also know” Been in the company of friends that betray you- “something I also know”

The loudness of depression silences you- “something I also know”
Had so much opportunity pass you- “something I also know”
Hanging around those feelings making you want to hang
yourself- “something I also know” Feeling all, you can watch is this
world’s poison, to want to poison yourself- “something I also know”
Tried to give another shot at life, to feel like you want to shoot
yourself- “something I also know” Please let me hear out the pain of
your story, rather than getting to hear your story while
attending your funeral- the pain you feel is a pain I also know

You witnessed the envy in your own eyes
as you gazed upon those priceless evergreens,
their lush greenery a sight to behold.
You couldn't help but yearn for their beauty,
a jealous lip bite betraying your desire to have
such splendor tucked and packed
like treasures in a boxer short.

As your legs tremble with resolve,
drenched in the intensity of the moment,
You bravely shoulder the weight of all
those taunts and challenges hurled like sharp
horns towards your chest.
Just like a bullhorn painfully piercing through
excited flesh, the sensation resonates within you,
stirring a tumult of conflicting emotions.

Your eyes, wide and searching, dart towards
the fleeting images playing out in your mind,
where the memory of being placed ever so delicately
on the bed surfaces.

Initially, his touch held a sense of
innocence reminiscent of cradling an infant,
but that purity is swiftly overtaken by a primal,
almost sinister desire that extinguishes it in a single,
searing breath.

His primal groans start chasing at your ears,
resonating with a deep and primal intensity that
seems to echo through the confines of your room,
reverberating against the walls and
enveloping you in a raw, untamed energy.

The tight moans of his fleshly presence fill the air,
creating a palpable tension that seems to draw
you closer to him, as if his very essence is intertwined
with yours in that moment.

His inviting eyes, like hot fires, burn with a
fierce intensity that seems to sear into your very soul,
their gaze captivating every inch of
your skin with a magnetic pull.

So beautiful were his eyes, reflecting a love that
enveloped you in a warm embrace, his affectionate
gaze mirroring the depth of his feelings for you.

Oh, how long you had waited for this moment,
your heart swelling with a mix of anticipation and
desire as you finally found yourself in his loving embrace.

All the beautiful mansions
with ugly resident
I sort of care less for those who
use their money so careless
But I'm still a little jealous, envious
of how I believe I could do any better/

Grasshopper antics; devouring the land's
crop of provisions
Treason so close to betraying a brother for
his treasure —none is as precious as the black jewel
eye seeing another, and feeling envious

Wicked is he
a prideful man; mannered in the fashion
of a fraction of being rational
Factionalism, spilt in between the opinions
of having a poor attitude so rich
Or richly deserved of your worth in poor circumstances

...common denominator
always determined by a pocket
Costing less to be costed by what
we judge as wins, and whichever we choose to
remember as one's losses

But it's a worn out subject, of how we still
determine one's success by sizeable pockets

Soft kisses, reminiscent of gentle touches on the skin,
Enveloped the senses with warmth.
Every steaming breath embraced the moment,
Saturating the air with indulgence.

Each sip from the largest mug etched a soft memory,
Like a painting on the canvas of the mind,
Capturing the essence of Sundays filled with
The comforting ritual of hot chocolate.

She's XY beautiful,
but she'll be my ex,why?
Cos not all love is so beautiful."

"Her kisses were like ivy,
and our love sickness put me on an IV"

So said the lonely man who spoke,
"love used to lay besides me, now it
only wants everyone else, besides me"

A pen:

a brush that paints a shadow of my past,
a guide of stories to lead into a future's path,
a maddening chorus of songs; all that play in parts,
an echo that shouts the silence of my heart,
a remainder of me working on myself to be a work of art

But I'm still somewhat unfulfilled;
knowing that there's more of me to write
To write of people, this world, and life
as I write better than a day before- I'm still unskilled
Always in this constant unending plight
cursed by words playing in my mind and a drive
And as soon as I've died; you'd remember me as being skilled

They say,
when you're destined to be a poet
chances likely you won't really know it.

They say,
choose the write words to make your voice known
don't be the antisocial type to avoid being alone

They say,
the future is what you dream it up to be
the only obstacle having  to face is only me.

They say,
The greatest writers suffer from the highest depression
Acting upon this active passive aggression.

They say,
You could speak a million words of positive
but they'll only remember the ones of  negative.

They say,
To be the greatest poet you'll need be  suffering through some hurt
maybe then your stories could leave the world with a mark and some worth.

Poet I am
But not strong in my securities of being such a man.
All my words scream out, hoping to be heard
Saying to be a Christian, sometimes yet failing to follow The Word.

Seeking to be heard and broadly known
When the whole world speaks of you highly
and all your works are widely shown.

Spare a few gratitudes to a lesser known poet
Why not share his wise words so people around at least know it
If I wrote a changing idea in the instant
would you at least show it
If someone plagiarized my quotes
would you at least call it.

Just please do me the simple favour
For this lesser known poet
As you excuse his childish behavior
And let him be a poet as he knows it.

Body

Let me love and care for the art piece
of your body- every pulsating touch of your
spasms. Jumping wildly; while washing
me in your spring water on top a mountain
of passions. I’ll spurt within you, from its tip.

And in kind; let the wetness of your lips
sooth my skin. Kissed by your sensual soul, as
it echoes every word of thirst, running down your
throat; chasing after every breath we lose in
a moment.

                       Still, let us not love in haste.

Amazon Queen

I gaze at you, as my sprouting rose in
bloom. But not something so delicate; she is
tall, shapely, and sturdy— my Amazon Queen
that keeps me in the centre of her rainforest.

As she lets my words water her floret by
their tip- its warmth and gentleness spoke of
a love so deep and fulfilling.

*******

Oh, how she stimulates my eyes,
as I make out with her eye’s persuasion;
my mind often rehearses how I’ll love her
in it’s imaginations- my mind’s perfect
simulation;

For our desires are much sweeter,
by every bite of her smooth chocolate skin
I adore her more than I would have
yesterday- to quietly bless each step
she’ll take tomorrow. And a reason for me
to kiss her feet.

Moist

Surely as the night is washed by the gentle rains-
I have these saturated thoughts, pondering how
she’ll drown me over another night’

As she could never
have the most without I in the middle;
her underwear feels so moist.


Climactic Prelude & Conclusion

Would you love to experience a climactic
prelude; a middle so sweet in its time;

While my eyes ripen at the sight of your
ripening fruit,

Oh, so sweet in its time, let me capture
and savour that juicy fruit,

For yes indeed we had fallen in love-
but let not that fruit eventually fall;

From its tree, to rot off its vine; let me bite
you as mine- to taste your heaven’s ecstasy;

In this climactic prelude; I promise the middle
is filling, and its conclusion won’t be short lived.

Poetry coming soon...

Really at most, it's just intrusive thoughts that love to consume
A force weapon of a pen,—red; as the after article read, is the inkling of inner demons demonstrating themselves out of my head
Amongst a night of inhaling the devil's smoke, painting ash in my lungs As it's not of doing the act for fun; or being numb to the obvious self harm. The burning passion in my heart is a fireplace,
as the smoke at times comes up and out of a chimney neck
To then coughing those fumes like a dying exhaust, exhausted by
a facade of pretending not to be as odd

With voices in my head...

Screaming whispers of a daily insecurity, usually when I
convince myself of not being belittled by the litter of *****
thoughts, that I quickly clean off with an innocent smile
Mr Nice Shy guy; someone you shouldn't waste to bat an eye
But the truth will swing at you abruptly

Things that all happen in the dark...

The sort of enlightening events to reveal one's darkest spot
Like those who act a little more holy than their holes in their
socks,—it's all but the stench of us all searching to be whole
But it's ironic though, that you need to feel whole to fill up a hole
And my mind is this gaping hole, that only a pen could fill in this deep abyss. But it sometimes betrays me like a Judas kiss, hanging me over
As I have an angel and demon battling over who speaks louder on my stronger shoulder

Poetry is coming soon, I'm just waiting for the voices in
my head.  All those voices of the things that all happen
in the dark

             My poetic demons

I'm too full of a fool; (in love)
death do us part, love you to death,
That's a coffin built for two,— some of me, some of you.
Why cry like an ocean; when your favourite
colour is blue?

There's a shade of yellow; particularly
in the back of your eye... so bright knowing; thinking
about you; (my brightest idea)

I'm alive; in a live performance of watching you
move my heart in motions. Motion pictures;
you fill with films of your story.

But if only...

I wasn't a writer of my imaginative;
a painter in the mind of what if's.
Being good at writing about love out of love;
this is poetic madness.

Lift my eyes inside my skull'
Searching for the words I;
Can quickly pen down:
Write a Poetic piece,
And for a moment feel proud.

Burning,
yearning passionate love
tows, and tows of flame
sparks fly in the sky—I've been too
high to realise I'm still scared of heights
Being too sweetly subtle
and so good to waste time around a belt buckle

Oily hair, and ideas slipping off
a random thought before a thought
Mileage of the tongue speaking covered
and affectionate words
Going around tour on your morals,
floral arrangements in the scent of love
Could be sweet, but bitterly sour
not every pretty sight, is a nice smelling flower

            ...all voices of poetic prowess

Life's got to be a trip,
question is where are you heading to?

World feels smaller in bigger shoes,
99% of the time I'm 100% sure I don't know what I'm even doing.
And a percent of the time I'd like to question what's living,
Asking myself, "what's the purpose in you".

The bright side of life could be a sunrise away,
so of course the lightness of life is just daylight found in another day.

So don't pray for the day,
just pray that you make it through the night
And I don't know if you shine, but you should be shining bright,
All through the day and burning through the night.
Might seem all bad, but every good is going to make everything seem alright.

In between us all, we're all shining,
and in between us all are the lights of our hearts.
So while it's still beating you're still alive to shine.
Stop playing shadow games with the dark,
you should know the moon itself still comes out in all of that dark,
So learn to shine in it from your beating heart.

Everything is going to seem so different,
like a changing season.
So stop betting on the weather,
you might find your fall before you spring into the next summer,
And it's going to be a quick Autum before you find yourself back in winter.

Clouds covering the sky are only a blanket covering the light before it wakes,
So learn from the sun and do your best to show a brighter face.

What you hiding from if it's only yourself,
and what you running from in life,
Looking for what's in store yet barely sticking by the shelf.

I know we can feel unsure about a lot of things,
and a lot of things can overwhelm the best from doing anything
But you're like a dream that isn't based on rules,  so maybe you could do everything.

Everything that is, what you were created to do,
shining in everyone of those tasks.
The simplest of course cause of the light in you.

You'll only know what you're missing when you haven't taken your shot in life,
And you seem to always do wrong cause you're never really looking to doing what's right

And I really should quote myself,
but really this me writing for anyone out there listening.
Cause maybe if we all had wider ears than a larger mouth,
we could probably figure out what's missing.

And really these poetic quotes aren't lightly taken despite me writing them in the dark.
But you should know broken people are the masters when it comes to any beautiful art.

So let yourself do the work in the things that set you apart,
Cause you're not living in this world for another  person's benefit,
so you best live for the sake of who you are.
And craft into the works of your gifting to make another piece of that work of art


Poetic Quotes.

Poetic words become
food for thought,
Words we bite in.
Poetic words become
old stories told,
Words of reciting.
Poetic words become
loud as thunder,
Word's powerful lightning.
Poetic words become
as us all,
Words of likeness.

There no such thing,
As a bad poem –

It’s merely a spectrum
Of Preferences.

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.

A poet armed to the teeth
Bullets of words will bite underneath your skin
Street rappers threats of getting you clapped
I’m just looking for applauds, and a territory of map
Not famous for mixing my pieces with rap
Tipping hats off to those famous ones not being capped
But back to being simpler, Mr Mr do you have a reason for your demeanour

Life is not always glitter, but it does make it prettier
We’re all the beautiful creatures creeping around a world
But some would prefer—we walk around wearing fur
Life’s annoying like two babies screaming to be the loudest
And we have some weeds in our garden, disguised as pretty flowers

Life is a veld fire, in it’s aftermath
Black mass, black soil to spoil—consumed by burning passion's bath
We all have a familiar mask, the present person hiding away a past
All having a role to play, with a few long-running cast
You could live a season, and cancel out a few friends
Dealing with episodes of drama that seem not to end
We're making amends, mending hopes with bandages of faith
Always on the life journey of roads we wish we paved
Following in the steps of His life, truth, and being the way
All hoping to walk up heaven's staircase in the end

Clearing my throat, of a coughing exhaust
The fumes of voice, of this poet's words of thought
In this speech—a piece of arousing emotions
Let it rise to ear, that you hear it clear of the notions

Tis the Poet's speech, the Poet's speech.

Polar opposites – one side happy, one side not so much.
One day I’m fine, while another I barely recognize myself.

Fitting through the days is as effortless as slipping my foot
into a shoe; yet on another day I find myself searching for
that shoe, or I might even choose to walk barefoot, craving
the raw sensation to remind me how to truly feel.

It isn’t the pain – it’s the mere contemplation of it that keeps
me tethered to reality, a hopeful lost dreamer adrift in a sea
of daydreams. My skin may grow thicker, but the heart’s soft
hurt grows a bit sweeter; even as my eyes perceive life’s
flavours as harsh and bitter.

Polar opposites – the spectrum of being happy, or trying
to be happy in the skin of your own being.

I wish time was as easy as skipping rocks over a pond.
It would be wonderful if, with a skip, I could
effortlessly transport myself to the other side
of that looming idea, finding the promise of the
future waiting for me there.

As I take each step, I envision them as stepping stones,
guiding me towards my goals and ambitions,
hoping I won't encounter another heartbreaking
moment that brings tears to my eyes.

The serene green scenery that surrounds
me serves as a reminder that my soul is still
burdened with the stains of past mistakes.
Yet, despite the passing of time, I find myself
at a loss for words, unable to utter another
empty prayer while feeling a lump in my throat,
like a frog is trapped within.

Food for thought,
the harsh truth is the hardest to digest

I handle my liquor as well — as a well striving to keep afloat.
In the shadows the nights stretch long, and I come across a girl
with a captivating smile; her body, however, bore the marks of
countless encounters, of each man who sunk in her, a much deeper
borehole. Yet, she adorns herself with a cross, perhaps a silent
testament for both parties to start off by saying their own grace.

I’m seemingly fighting inner demons; as a silent war etched upon
my face — all the while chasing after every idea to extend this
human race. Yet, it is a cruel irony that the most profound revelations
often emerge only after, we have drowned ourselves in the depths
of unspoken answers in our cups.

And so, the clash of poor ideas and the taste of liquor lingers on;
as the drinks act as an unequal guide, to the morning — where in
the aftermath, the bitter collision of misguided notions and the
haunting essence of spirits endures.

****** drive,
a yearning of close when you're the thing I thrive.
Posture of a body built of a Goddess.
Nobody is perfect in the world baby, but I'm seeing you flawless.

I see something we could share together on a bed
When two wild fleshes come together to be one bound after we wed.

And as we both grow older.
A hopeful man like I could lift the weight of the world of your shoulder.

Stuck on the posture of your grace,
You stole my heart with a look on your face.
Before I could ever learn your name.
Stole my heart to leave me a heartless man. Baby you're to blame.

Making my point like a lost arrow.
Coming inside of you with such a opening of narrow.

Having you strong like a body of whiskey by the yearn of your posture.
You stole my heart and sooner or later it's going to cost you.

The power of words:
of how friends become fiends
Are we not selfish of opinions
of saying what we think without
Giving it too much thought
The power of words.

The power of words:
of feeling pretty and petty
Are we not ugly of schemes
to be the man of a manipulate
To force another to seem absurd
The power of words.

The power of words:
worshipping idol, your faith is idle
Materials won't materialise in the end
depending on their salvation
It all ends with the world
The power of words.

Prayed for those
preying on me.

I owe you my attention
Jesus you owe me nothing
You can do all you can do
I'm tired of being restless
When I can't see myself
You can see me through and through

Caught up in my affection
No one loves me as you do
I come to you in repentance
I just owe you my attention
Giving every piece of my heart all to you

Nothing is as substantial
Jesus you're all that matters
In the questions of the world
I put you first, and trust your answers

You're a gold ring, and a rose
Covenants you've made—so beautiful
All the words you spoke, I'm in awe

Coming back for your bride
Let me make her pleasingly pure
Coming to fill my entire heart
Let me clear space in every room
Lord I need you now—I need you

I owe you my attention
I am so empty, being a vessel
Broken as I am, you still give blessing
I just owe you my attention

Lord you have all my attention

In Jesus name, Amen.

There's a cloud—dark, gloomy tower in
the very distance. With echoes of heavy thunder,
and the growing flashes of lightning.
A cough to shake the heavens; as in the smell of
dew—it's due a season of the washing away of old.
Overflow; I speak this overflow. As in after the Storm,
cones the smell of growth. To wait patiently
on the Lord—as he is revealed behind, and of been
working through the storm.

You’d say it’s the last of your lust,
“Still would we stay strong, and not bust when I bust”
Even when the feeling of wanting to party,
comes around partly,
Hardly though, according to a recent thought, —
I’m a little box-shaped heart; of my love’s accordion.

And as soon as someone finds a nut in a nutshell;
it would be coming from a hard external covering,
before busting another nut.
A cruel notion that what usually ***** the most,
is the most you’re forced to swallow.

Just as *** sells; ***** intentions sort of smells,
—making sense of any humor, chasing after a laugh.
Though I’m quite convinced that the woman wants one
extra arrival, while the man is the first one to come.
    “You hear it as an awkward after laugh”

The feeling was premature; a broken timing for a
jack in the box—a story of premature *******.