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Chandre Petersen Poem
Pretenders seem to care less
About the world and its mess
They hide behind the apparent smiles
And smash words like tiles
Funny how we seem to enjoy crying
Forgetting that we should be praying
And somehow we laugh at the pathetic
But somehow deep down inside we sympathetic
Life has become an option
And to laugh is not the notion.
Drying paint dries the cracked walls.
And smear life as it near falls
What are we doing humans? Shrinking !
How we never smile at the good
But smile at when we drinking
And feed drugs to please the mood
Hear my cries dear young dude
Life is an option
And to seem deaf is not the notion.
Real talk seems to be a sneaky conversation
When the tough comes we play with emotion
When will we realize that in fact we are fearing
Dying,crying not listening to the weary
Distance and time seems all to be left
Yet we creep at night to commit theft
And stealing lives that shed innocent blood
Will the rivers cry with a red flood
Hear my cries dear young criminal
Life is an option
And to seem ignorant is not the notion.
Copyright © Chandre Petersen | Year Posted 2012
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Chandre Petersen Poem
"I dedicate this poem To all the woman who have
suffered abuse emotionally and physically and to
those who have passed away as a result of abuse"
I have fought an endless war
I have been beaten to the floor
Yet you kissed me seductively
And feared me leaving you secretly
When the morning was ours we separate
For we could never honestly mate
For I was barren,forsaken,lost,fading
I couldn't bear the fruit of which you waiting
For I am bound to the pain of which I'm sealed
But born naked I stand before you and I am
healed.
Contagious are the looks, painful the cold
greetings.
Waiting for you to release your beatings.
A scratch
A bruise
A vulgar word
A bruise
A scuff
A bruise
A lie
A bruise
Listen, listen as I fall, as I hopelessly weep
For my life has taken its final leap
I weep not for my body laying there
But for the man that has to live with the conscious
Of being my murderer and leaving bare
Copyright © Chandre Petersen | Year Posted 2012
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Chandre Petersen Poem
This poem I dedicate to the people in my
household the night our home was invaded by two
men
Its 3:41 soaked in fear
We are ordered to hide near
They crushed what was once my home
And removed any remainder of peace
The gates rattle send a fearful and cold shrill
They stole a "TV"
But if they only knew !
That they stole a 12 year old's security
Horror climbed the stairs
Through what could have been
If they shot us dead
That night will always remain dark
Shots were fired !
We were chuffed into a cupboard
Three children unknown to what was occurring
I Heard my mothers panic
God seemed to hear her call
One shot but 7 mentally bruised
Left with confused faces asking what next ?
For a moment we seemed to be lost
A "Tsotsi" stole more than a TV
That night he stole innocence and peace
He stole a young boys sense of security
What do we think that a gun defines power
Since its existence
We think it justifies the injustice
It removes the stains of hate
It soothes the insanity of the mind
It is the easy way out
It is protection
Well with the many reasons it has
One is, its a reality of death
Copyright © Chandre Petersen | Year Posted 2012
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Chandre Petersen Poem
The scars are reflected upon the wrinkled skin
Carried down through the anguish of history
But Beauty shines through their forgiving smiles
We are a nation history has spoken to
Yet We rejoice and feel free in the "townships"
But still scared of being inferior in the "suburbs"
Why so are we mentally still in jail.
"I am free" proclaims our young minds
Yet we are captive to drugs and crime
Being a South African means breathing hope
I am scared for my neighbour
Even from my neighbour
A gun has been called a visitor
In my home shared with my kin
For protection against our own people.
I am young with hopes
I am a young with dreams
Yet I am scared of living in my homeland
The beauty of my birth place escapes my mind
When a young man kills
When a man commits murder
When a woman is raped
When a woman is beaten
I convey the future of South Africa
My beautiful and blessed country
Dear God help my country
For a prayer indeed is what is needed
We may not perish
We may not disappoint those slain for freedom
We may not lay down
We will rise
We will conquer
Because we are South Africans
Because I am a South African
Copyright © Chandre Petersen | Year Posted 2012
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Chandre Petersen Poem
Titles have flown
And brought me home alone
But yet I talk cheerfully
Hiding the suspense fearfully
Don't dare but play fair
But be calm and I despair
Any dethrone justice
Of which I seek malice
I boast with dark blasphemy
Of a fool's forgery.
I Boast with your fears
I Boast with your tears.
I boast with your laughter
I boast when you think you are my master.
I boast with your terror
But what I love most to boast is your error
To forget me your conscience.
Copyright © Chandre Petersen | Year Posted 2012
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Chandre Petersen Poem
An open grave of a lover
To be killed is better then to suffer
And say things unknown
For my worst fear is to be alone
The nights are numb and tired
For they are not admired
The words you spoke cease a pain
So sharp my life is to be slain
I would have traveled far for what's mine
Take your unfair times fine
As long as you keep me and not
Please don't let it rot
Take back the sad goodbye
Oh how time please, just fly
For me to return to loves embrace
And be mesmerised at the beauty of your face
Make our bodies one
And say our love has won
Oh ! How much I would not give
To have one speck of hope to live
Deliver me God I beg
For here on this earth is a drag
But your will be done
And the song has been sung
This is not the last
It is just life who it self is fast.
Copyright © Chandre Petersen | Year Posted 2012
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Chandre Petersen Poem
Before, my eyes had colour
Now they reflect a saddened valour
Constant shakes make me quiver
And meaning is lost forever
I am a reminder of a beauty before.
Lost in a struggle with regret
Cry my beloved damned for your life I tore
Don't remind me of what I beg to forget
A dark passionate embrace
With a disgust for a race
I feed with lust
And reap with rust
I cure the insanity the brain faces
To the hush and cold dances
But I need more to be removed
I need another to lure
My accomplice death.
Copyright © Chandre Petersen | Year Posted 2012
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