Fallen
I write of a love that's two cigars short in a box
With a chest of smoke and loves to lay on a bed of Roses
Made of yeast and dough, it's known years of surviving on the crams of a lovers bread
My wrist loves to lose control
Try paint the picture of the woman who drives my father crazy
A woman moulded by the ladies of my city
I take notes of the fellows of my town
The men who drink from the cup of pain and bring heartbreaks
Humans who love to wage war on the subtle heart
For romance in my city is a warzone
Where they shall never be peace
And love like bread should be picked by the doves of my region
Taken to the last embers of the cities where you do not share your own
For today my heart has shed another layer to make parcel the blood pump of an unfortunate lady
I wish to wound an organ once more
For their is a lady who before championed the perishing of my self esteem
Wore the last remains of what survived of my heart in the fire
And now the city will not rest
Copyright © Roger Nkhoma | Year Posted 2021
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