-"x+2 = 4"-
Enigmas of the soul
Do you know how it feels?
Never tasted before
Creative writers are never given flowers while they still breathing poetry.
Biters wait patiently for the last breath to pay their respect and get paid with your work.
Claiming being sent by callings to keep the legend's work alive till infinity.
No doctor has the cue for this sick world.
But guess what we writers do care.
We keep writing spiritually we don't care.
Atleast i don't care, i know you'll be speaking my language with your theft.
Evidently i do share.
You are that invisible disciple i recruited to speak for me in my death.
It's the life of an artist who cares.
We don't seek recognition.
Recognition come to us that's why we endlessly spread.
We are angels with no wings heaven is closer to us we don't fly.
Paradise is home for holidays filled with dead writers.
An escapism from you hooligans.
Its a crime not a mime when you speak rhyme in my rhymes.
Thank God i'm still an infant in this poetry, i have a chance to fill up the grave you dug for me.
Your patience will have to patiently await my departure patiently.
I have enough time to unleash these constipated rhymes.
You think you got me.
I speak better in my rhymes like a machinegun tone spraying pee.
My skeleton is covered in mics louder i do speak rhythmic bones.
My skeleton is made out of cables transporting poetic stones.
My soul will be kept in your brain's museum.
There i said it.
Ye i meant it.
Far away from this bonded crowd,
Far away from these layers of
Oh wings of the air glide me away,
To the world, world above the
To the giant mountains of mist,
Where sparkling houses of rain
World beneath where would be
And sun rays where will be cold
Where I won’t be bound by laws,
And I could speak freely about
things I love aloud,
Yeah to the world with cloud
above the clouds,
Where everything just everything
will be allowed.
Sliding on morning dews that stays
Diving in the night’s sky that looks
like morning light,
With no paths to follow,
I’ll glide free and fast,
Yawing, pitching, bouncing,
Like the endless penumbra it’s
unknown where I’ll last
Yeah endless it is,
And it’s unknown where I’ll last
For Above the CloudsContest
I think I am late :-( posting this
A voyage of you that starts with a kiss...
A ride taken slow without a spot missed...
Silky curves that have a life of its own...
Rivers of fruit that leads to your home...
Strawberry rainbows that encircle your body...
We drift into bliss as you surrender to me...
Hands that learn to speak on this tasty ride...
Where we lay on a stage where passion can't hide...
Sailing these seas, right now the waves are rough.
The ship is hard to steer, and I fear we may sink.
My crew has hope, but they don’t see what I do.
The water’s looking troubled, just like the way I think.
Sailing these seas, the waves have settled down.
The ship is sailing smoothly, I believe we’ll be okay.
My worries are at the back of my head.
I’ll save them for another day.
Sailing these seas, I think we’ve struck something!
My crew is in a panic, and I was not prepared.
Captain, don’t you know you always have to be cautious?
Even the leader sometimes gets scared.
Arriving at the shore, the ship barely intact.
Most of my crew is gone, but a few knew how to live.
They saved me when I needed them.
I want to show thanks, but I have nothing left to give.
To me, this poem sort of symbolizes depression, while indirectly talking about it.
The first verse pretty much says
"I am in a bad place, and I have supporting friends/family, but they don't see what I'm going through the way I do."
Second: "Things are getting better and I've decided to stop worrying about bad things happening and try to be happy."
Third: "Whenever I start thinking about good things and have hope, something bad always happens and I should've been prepared for it."
Fourth: "I made it through it, but lost a lot of the people supporting me because they couldn't handle me while I was down, and whatever I went through weakened me so it's hard to show gratitude to the people who stayed."
As I sit here on this warm, solid shore
beneath a lighthouse I adore.
It stands perfect, beautiful and mint
the roof shingled, a lovely brown tint.
its beacons, a blazing blue hue,
shine light upon all that I knew.
One day a while ago. Past the fog of the bay
my lighthouse shimmered and played
its beacons shown with a stare
at a new land, an island out there.
I had seen hints of it while looking around
though never thinking I’d leave this fertile ground.
As the fog lifted and cleared
my lighthouse showed a path that was close. I steered
through this maze of perils towards the new shores
Glancing at the edge of this place, suddenly I want more.
I want to venture and explore it so
Thank you my lighthouse for your allowing glow.
This new isle of desire,
surrounded by a bright red ring of fire
has two beautiful blue pools, clear and deep
a cave so welcoming, sweet sounds did seep
Its lovely peaks were thoroughly explored.
with light patch of grass along the other shore.
For all its beauty and wonderment, true enjoyment
lies within the relaxing feel of each moment.
Around this isle I can be myself without a worry.
It has welcomed me and listened to my stories.
I listened as the breeze told tales, many that related
The warmth felt upon these shores makes me elated
This isle has been so inviting
every moment around it was exciting.
My delight in it became hard to evade
but the light from my home was beginning to fade.
I left for home for that is my place.
Having difficulty ignoring those feelings, I pace.
The fog rolled back hiding the isle
Knowing it was there made my mind go wild.
Thoughts that, maybe I could journey without my light
Knowing the trip was very treacherous and not right
For days I pondered it. Deciding to wait out the fog instead
Realizing that I was out of my head
For on my shore I have everything I adore
Stability and sanctuary surround my lighthouse and shores
Family and friends within safe distance
Loss of all this if I were to crash in an instant
That is why I have stopped trying to find
the isle of desire that consumed my mind.
Someday if the fog lifts and the lighthouse shines
I’d make the trip and enjoy the time.
The isle of desire that once consumed my mind.
Now is a place that if I happen to find
Will be fun and exciting as I venture its shores
But only when allowed by the lighthouse I adore.
On a voyage of heartache, through one window I see,
the fading sun dancing on waters so deep.
Mile be mile, my destination is clear,
in my heart, I wonder if I am sailing on tears.
The only sound to be heard are the lonely filled waves,
lost voices of loves from watery graves.
So alluring it is, but so cruel it can be,
the souls of so many concealed by the sea.
As the darkness takes hold, the colder it gets,
and like the tormented before, I am filled with regrets.
Regrets for the tears, and the dreams I surrendered,
behind the wake, her pain I remember.
On a cruise of loss, here I am chained,
in the eyes of others, the sorrow is the same.
On a voyage of heartache, through one window I see,
another soul slowly sinking, tossed over by me.
Noah you must build a vessel 300 cubits long, 50 wide, 30 high and it must be strong
It must carry a roof three stories high, finished to a cubit upward with entrance on the long.
Use only Gopher wood that is smeared both inside and out with pitch
Then take your family and every animal that I might destroy this world in which:
Evil must be cleansed by a flood of Heavenly destruction
Ye shall perish too, if not great care, taken in construction
Pay particlar attention to each of my animals aboard
For like me, you are their Salvation and I in turn, your Lord
Noah, I command you Rise! Go! Collect the tools you will need
For there only remains 300 years to completion of this deed
Tend to every last animal no matter how large or small
For I am the Lord, thy God who created and love them all.
An hour before time, they put her through the motions.
Shoving and pulling her strings adding oil and suntan lotion.
Hot and humid still shining in candid spirit she professes
in music, a monotone but in finesse, a tune nonetheless.
Of her welcome song intrinsic in me but to her handlers, in blase
only the mere task of steering and roping in tense power play.
Embarking though marred by obvious signs of abuse and neglect.
Her rolling in elation disguised the slippery entrance and my regret.
Drivers accommodating cramped spaces as directed, gently to fill.
Opting to maitain serenity as they in vain, placate her iron will.
Do I hear her rising blood pulses or lack of joy in welcome thereof?
No, just the sound of tumultuous creaks and human smell
of perfume, tainted sweat and punjent oil leaks let off.
Disgruntled impatience of mere sailors but of her, not a peep.
Standing tall, holding firm a class of her own as she let sweep.
Riding the waves in style directing me to the destiny I must keep.
On and on she rides tantalising the waves as they foam at the peaks.
Such insight when she lapses into a lullaby putting me to sleep.
I return to a friend who knows well to serve, to ferry me ashore.
Another blissful time with her as the sea beckons for us to explore.
She is faithful, a useful companion with its own metallic commodore.
Sailing majestically forever a classy lady, our very own Lady Samoa.
(N.B Lady Samoa is our Inter-Island Ferry)
On the scene " The Carpathia "
To the saved ones
The real White Star
Off she steams
New York ahead
Leaving behind many dead
Pier 54 this saviour docks
As New Yorkers race to flock
To witness survivors of this tragic ship
On her Maiden Voyage did she trip
April 14th, 1912 she shone
April 15th, 1912 she was gone.