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Messoh Vincent Poem
I will die if I wake up in a dream
and find myself on the page of a book.
I will die if I wake up
and find this is a dream.
I will die if I wake up
and find myself on a book.
I would be dead if I awoke
and found my dream so gone.
May be I would still die
if I discover it was only a dream.
I want to stay awake and be up
when come death to carry me away.
I want to live my life on the lane;
the clear lines on a page.
On the fast lane I dwell indeed,
I want to live a thriller and die
be dead and come to live again,
Creating rhyming lines of epic poetry.
I really need to die soon and live fully
in the transformation of light and dark
that illuminates life and death.....
Experiencing the joy of my own death.
If life and death was purely a dream
one that could kill me dead
on the virgin page of my open book....
Then in poetry I would feel the joy.
If the virgin lifestyle is an empty dream
then in death I pray for an open book
which is where I truly long to live:
Painting experiences of my eternal life.
For sure I want to live and die
transversing the yearning lane
that defines the parameters of my poetry
When I wake up and just find myself dead.
Poetry is surely an artistic lifestyle
When you die and soon out you fly
Observing your experiences from the cloudy sky
Then you relive your life in lines of poetry.
Copyright © Messoh Vincent | Year Posted 2016
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Messoh Vincent Poem
The love
That I feel
Can never sleep.
Anxiety that kills me
With warmth.
Loved
I've missed
Terror briddled
Set to gallop
My heart.
Deaf
Silence...
Words spoken
For heart that's set
Ablaze
Gripped
Red rose...
Breasts to hug
With zeal breast bored
In rose!!!
Craze
That I yield
Can't just end.
Anxiety that kills me
In pain.
Copyright © Messoh Vincent | Year Posted 2016
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Messoh Vincent Poem
The stump on which I sit
Drawn to reverie each new day,
Today was wet with mist;
A trait of the mystery
Of dew on my stump.
All the tall grass
Around the foot so lovely
Like stockade in their dance.
With leaves fresh with dew,
My soul fortress of refuge.
This stump on which I sit
Today on it I can't sit
Unless I accept to get wet
With red quill ink like dew
On the stump I so much love.
And so from beside the stump
Where lay buried a precious childbirth
I stay with my head on my laps
As with emotion these lines I write
For the dew on my stump.
Copyright © Messoh Vincent | Year Posted 2016
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Messoh Vincent Poem
YOU ARE MY MIRACLE
You are to me something
between a dream and a miracle
In my eyes you are a revelation of reality
In my judgment shall stay your memories to eternity.
I want to pray that your heart may desire this
That when the memories me they come to visit
May they come as memories of beauty
May I smile and in my heart rejoice
At the thought of all the good you did
Only that I beg of thee.
My thoughts of you give me hope
Please I beg bring me not sorrow
To me, I know you are so special
My heart indeed believes you are special
This I beg before you are gone
One day when the days are gone
May your memories stay with me long
Please make me not think I was wrong
Coz my thoughts of you bring me hope
That you can be to us a miracle
The dream we long to hold
And to me you are
A miracle!!!
Copyright © Messoh Vincent | Year Posted 2016
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Messoh Vincent Poem
Will I ever know how to write
Will you ever know what I wrote
When I was idolized and free to write?
Will it ever come to be eternally
That in the grave fore I lie
In the world I never die?
Copyright © Messoh Vincent | Year Posted 2016
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Messoh Vincent Poem
If only I was the baby
on your laps
On those sharp pricky nipples
I would all day suck.
If only I was the angel
Hidden in your heart,
I would cherish to dabble
On the crest of your love.
If only I was the zealous swan
Flying on your vast sky,
I would let out to you all
The beauty of this hidden feeling.
If only I could be the sun
That hangs whole day on your sky
I would softly revere and sweetly caress
Brown skin on your back as you bathe.
If I could be the cold rain water
I would still hug and caress you
Under the cover of your tight dress
As down the curves of your body I glide.
If only I could be all that to you
It would all be sweetly so true
This,but only if.........
Copyright © Messoh Vincent | Year Posted 2016
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Messoh Vincent Poem
Women of society dressed in silk
Thin pink spangly dresses that shine
Viciously blown away by the wind:
At all not but all never afraid
Ever to expose naked bodies
Swathed in extreme beauty.
Tis the elegance of our society
The ambivalence of our dexterity
The vicious tenacity of their temerity
The very ambivalence of this beauty
The hidden nature in it of this beauty
The hidden nature in it of this levity
Is a promiscuous social beauty.
Copyright © Messoh Vincent | Year Posted 2016
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Messoh Vincent Poem
African savannah grassland;
The grove world of beautiful lands.
Open and vast with opportunity
For every lion to go hunting.
The grove world of beautiful lands
For every lion to go hunting,
Watching is culture perched on a branch
Upon the decaying to come and feast.
For every lion to go hunting
Upon the decaying to come and feast.
The weak drool upon greedy king of the jungle
While the strong cut down oak of the forest.
Upon the decaying to come and feast;
While the strong cut down oak of the forest
And tap on withered porous papyrus branches,
Boiling fresh latex of the rubber tree.
While the strong cut down oak of the forest
Boiling fresh latex of the rubber tree,
They're cheered on by dancing blades of grass
That create beauty to appease the touring spirit.
Boiling fresh latex of the rubber tree
That create beauty to appease the touring spirit
Seeking to know every insect hidden in burrows
While in the strong wind the grass sway.
That create beauty to appease the touring spirit
While in the strong wind the grass sway
Not really dancing to any piece of music;
It creates a beautiful tune for dancers.
While in the strong winds the grass sway
It creates a beautiful tune for dancers
Attending the party of starved herbivores
Who feast on African savannah grass.
It creates a beautiful tune for dancers
Who feast on African savannah grass
The grove world of beautiful lands
For every lion to go hunting.
Copyright © Messoh Vincent | Year Posted 2016
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Messoh Vincent Poem
The sweet scent of her young perfume
Silently waffled into my loud nose
Graciously choking me to sweet rest of death;
And along with her warm waves I sailed well
Into the bottomless abyss of boiling Paradise.
Copyright © Messoh Vincent | Year Posted 2016
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Messoh Vincent Poem
A poem
This I must
As writing is my hobby.
My time is too short
The space is limited
Resources I have not
But to speak it I must.
So 'tis my task
Verses to write
A poem.
Copyright © Messoh Vincent | Year Posted 2016
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