Some people say life’s a bummer
Some people say it’s like summer
And within the joyous smiles for a new born
Lie the tortured tears of grieving scorn.
Some people say life is to learn
Some people say it can hurt and burn
And within the lessons of flight or fane
Lie the toils and spoils of pleasure and pain.
Some people say don’t worry it’s all just life
Some people say it cuts like a knife
And within the losses, the takes and the give
Lies the truth of it all, life is to live.
And i fall to my knees,
and pray for deliverance from pain,
but my prayers just fade into silence.
And i am left forever bitter,
wondering if i was ever even sincere.
So forgive me Lord, for I am flawed.
I will kill the feelings of my heart.
I am blinded by love.
I will steal a fane and burn a whorl
but i will not lie.
And i will not scream. I will confess.
And i will die for my sins.
i will die.
Amen.
:: 04.12.2022 ::
In a lonely garden there' s a shrine
where upon a rough hewn stone is writ:
“GOD IS LOVE.”
The devoted supplicants make wail,
water the flowers, feed with crumbs
the sacramental dove.
A priest, decrepit, feeds the holy fire,
rakes the embers of the holy hearth.
Heaven is grey above.
Daily he laments in doleful orison,
unbinds the holy scroll and reads:
“Thou shalt not kill.”
His sentence is short and simple,
without exceptions and parentheses,
declaring God’s will.
though many about have forsaken
Love’s fane, have fallen prostrate
before a god of ill.
And this god has three faces,
one wreathed in pleasure’s smiles,
when the cup is full.,
a brazen face of terror
wrought in hatred’ fire,
And a skull.
I beheld a garden of flowers
That graces an awesome hill;
Thrilled that same hour
By the garden goddess of the hill.
She handles with poise,
And fights like a warrior;
With the melody of her voice,
She counters terror.
Behold the garden goddess!
Majestic as a chess Queen;
Elegant like an Empress
On throne of dazzling sheen.
Her realm is eternal!
Her pride like that of a Fane;
Her prowess is supernal!
Her fame shall never wane.
Dedicated to Temitope Fatoyinbo
ke sereti sa ngwana mobu,
Itsibulo la murufe'a phogole
ke mmina nonyana nna ke ila tlhantlhagane
Gesu re bina ka tlhwatlhwadi tse pedi re a tshagela
ke gabo mebala ye mesehlana ya maribariba.
Re senya disele, re kgobakgobela mello'a tukela basele
Ke mabjale ke inela bjala go tlisa lethabo
Ke maisele a dithoro ke rothetsa thotse tsa letsema
Ke sereti sa phulamadibogo ke ahlamisa batseta
Ke kgadi ya masogana ke ikeme ke le nosi ,
Mathatha maimana ke rwala hlogong boka ngata
Ka fane ke Chagane a mmotong wa lethwele la phakamphele
Ke gata go boifisago ka tlhamo txa ntwa marumo
Kgarebe ya humo la go kgamixa ba mamone ka pelo
Mmantepa leme le sa kgaotseng go balabalela babogi
Mankgabane ke gesu motseng wa ditemo tsa go dumisa
Ke kgatheng ga melokoloko ya dithaba le di nokana
Ke tswa theng ga noka ditxhaba kutswi ya borrawexu
Nna mahlako a mphela melomo ya diperete tsa bosole
Sereti sa mathale a bojakane bja go ipipa ka sesotho sa Leboa.
In a lonely garden is a shrine
where upon a rough hewn stone is writ:
“GOD IS LOVE.”
The devoted supplicants make wail,
water the flowers, feed with crumbs
the sacramental dove.
A priest, decrepit, feeds the holy fire,
rakes the embers of the holy hearth.
Heaven is grey above.
Daily he laments in doleful orison,
unbinds the holy scroll and reads:
“Thou shalt not kill.”
His sentence is short and simple,
without exceptions and parentheses,
declaring God’s will.
though many about have forsaken
Love’s fane, have fallen prostrate
before a god of ill.
And this god has three faces,
one wreathed in pleasure’s smiles,
when the cup is full.,
a brazen face of terror
wrought in hatred’ fire,
And a skull.
Near Lake Fane the sheep graze in thy green meadow.
At ease, ewes are seen nibbling field blades most fine,
where fierce lion's shape may cast no grave shadow
or shows dire snake hole.
For ye make sure thy sheep are made safe these nights
from great teeth that tear meat and brake bones so bold.
And cold stream to lake's made still by side runoff
to hold so shallow.
This thy oak staff's sheep's certain safeguard gainst foes.
Sling's also alongside the oak stave we see.
Thus sheep sleep secure aye beneath huge shade trees
without fear nearby.
New scene speaks of bucolic peace made by night
for those under his care in closed gate sheepfold.
Then he make his fire frying rice cakes, grease beans,
and feeds male collie.
How thou art never flee to thy subconscious mind
From what I know I plea to thee and to all around
Thou suffering an raise thou pure heart and lace
Heavens only can tell' can see what thy behold of me
Why earth why not purple plants for thy soil to lance
O' I envy the' feathers up in sky to look upon as fane and die
I do so sorrowly do
26/01/2017
how soft is thy land to buy in hand
with one but yet common armor
fought against with yee farmer
breathing for glory amongst enemy
a feeling of as if i belong to thy land
a lang thou art never sensed like thee
wit and brave risk taking nerve
fear not my child thou art to serve
tears yet to fled from that child's bed
years in the eyes to enemies dept
no sword no war yet glory call
years later anxious wrath brought back
what once was past
and all but speaking wounds blast
to raise and thunder games begin
love then resides in fane
and world by all lands become sane
for a flower that's yet of vain
marriage behold them all
in secret still to fall
for all seasons to roll
and reach somewhere so tall
then haze and mist in darkness
shed upon air
leaving leaves dry and fare
a brides death rises to breathe
and anger to all bounds prepare
to invade and slaughter to what
once a heart a daughter
was to bear' remains
to all rebels the heart prevails
to fight and stand for each Scots fate
forever remember thy heart brave
Before the storm everything appeared to be lucent
But, then the rain fell upon my window
All the things I knew, now blurred
Light that once guided me is now a maze
Senses I once trusted have betrayed me, forgotten me
I can no longer discern what is right from the wrong
Are the morals I know and believe real?
Or rules created by man?
Do these rules protect or control mankind?
The drops of rain have obscured my moral sense of the world
The decadent things in life now seem genuine
I'm fain to go to a fane filled with feign
Because it no longer feels nefarious
It's still raining outside; A blurry conscience I have
Just of you
everything
saviour of him
unique
sun of God
centre of evrything
everlasting
nothing git in way
trst in him
rely the fane of God
everything is differ o me