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Lively silvery torments,
mere golden tingles,
hours never gone off.
I keep watching over you,
poetic genius,
****** genuine,
learned rebel,
sensitive archetype.
Could I forget your voice
and the thousands fascinations of yours?
Utopia, my pirate….
It’s only my foolish desire
a dense kaleidoscope
of languid coincidences,
all vain,… but certainly
mystic consolations.
I wrote this one 'in ode' to a great artist, in 2009 , but it could fit to all my favorite artists truly inspiring me along the way ...
 Apr 2016 Chijioke Nnamani
Ovid
Though I can't prove an idea that isn't so uncanny,
Being the fact I can control my insanity.
I don't want to be needy but some one to talk sure is handy.  
My friends tell me the same thing my brain tells myself;
That "It's  not your fault you couldn't hold on to her".
Desperation for something and getting nothing leaves me believing I'll be alone forever,
That late winter day when I swore things couldn't have been better,
I was left out to dry and was treated as a stranger.
Now I watch from the outside longing for an answer.
Checking in on each other indirectly a far is honestly ripping me apart.
Just let go I'm not holding on to the past.  
I'm just holding on to the question "why can't anything with anyone last".
Everything blurs and everything fades,
It may not for you, but it always does for me.
If I'm a fool, and if I can live quietly, maybe something or someone will come to set me free.
 Apr 2016 Chijioke Nnamani
ryn
Grant me forgiveness.
For my mouth had acted prematurely
and erred.
Acrid words my tongue can't retract.
My lips quiver,
pursed and scared.

Grant me relief.
For my ego had lunged.
Fueled emotions that strayed.
Sensible thoughts in mind
that my heart had betrayed.

Grant me strength and courage.
Let the next morn's sun,
illuminate the dark obstinacy of my heart.
Allow this bitter turbidity to pass.
So I could walk the hard road,
to a brand new start.
.
Sometimes words carry more venom than fangs.
And often, the path to absolution lies first, in forgiving oneself.
.
 Apr 2016 Chijioke Nnamani
bones
Easy flow the waters
of the river passing by,

though we straighten them with walls
and narrow them in time,

and lace them up with bridges
to bind them where they lay,

still the waters, like a lifetime,
slip their bonds and pass away..
For hours, I tried to sleep.
The rain drums down on the tin roof;
the demons are knocking.
I see their tears stream down the window;
a cleverly designed artifice to distract
from their true intent.
I ignore their subtle attacks, but they always
find a way back in.
I watch their shadows drift in through
the windows;
morphing from one shape into another,
hovering around me,
their whispered breaths cloud the air –
there is barely a space unfilled by their presence.
I can’t seem to chase them away, and I’m
wrapped up into their world.
Empty, cold and alone,
my reality remains stranger than any dream.

© Sia Jane
 Apr 2016 Chijioke Nnamani
Rumi
The moon has become a dancer
at this festival of love.
This dance of light,

This sacred blessing,
This divine love,
beckons us
to a world beyond
only lovers can see
with their eyes of fiery passion.

They are the chosen ones
who have surrendered.
Once they were particles of light
now they are the radiant sun.

They have left behind
the world of deceitful games.
They are the privileged lovers
who create a new world
with their eyes of fiery passion.
We’re looking into each other’s eyes;
it’s 4am.
We’re sat in a hospital room, I’m reciting your favourite verse.
You’re ragged and stitched together;
I just wish it was from being loved.
I just wish my love could make you Real.

I knew from day one, no one and no thing,
not even love, could take you away and finally
set your soul free.

So
I gave you all of me.

It wasn’t hard to give away.
Within moments of witnessing your smile; the one
held in your eyes widening your stare,
you crushed through my ribs with warmth and love,
held my heart in your hand, promising no matter
the distance and land between us, my heart would remain
safe – beneath your bruised chest.

Tonight, I’m alone.
It’s been 17 days since I last saw you.
I’m in the park where we always walked,
where our love was made tangible by etchings in wood.
The bark now crumbles
and the decay mirrors the gradual corrosion
of what was once, and will
never be, again.

© Sia Jane
Incredibly honoured to be daily poem.
I've had such encouragement from all of you here, and I am forever grateful.
Without too much self deprecation, I deserve this spot no more than many of you other great writers out there.
You inspire me daily too <3
Much love and light always, Sia <3


Re-working old writes with some new ideas <3
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