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Tonye George Poem
Like your favorite ambrosian juice and long caramel series, there's always an end. Everything has an end. The arcane rainbow, the beating rain, your aching pain. Hunger is a feeling, and to conquer it, you must feed it.
The strongest things are buried
beneath the ground, in the dark, in the unknown and to know how much you can hold, you must reach your threshold.
As powerful as the motley moon, it’s not full every nebulous night. Even the purified stars disappear. Your beauty doesn’t rest only in fullness, It blooms in your maroon mistakes,
your balmily imperfections, and your empyreal past. You do not exist without
them—hold them like a teddy, sing a pumpkin lullaby and let it be your Nexus.
For just like you, what holds the trees are unseen. Be it your resin fears or your shrinking folds, your amort traumas or flaming losses, give them a chance to win,
Whatever you give power to,
controls everything you have control over.
when something breaks,
it never returns to what it was.
It either stays unfixed or is made into something better. Every grain I’ve lost
gave me a chance for something more.
The beauty of the tangerine
sea glass lies in the turns of the tumult storms and corpulent tides. Some things aren’t seen, yet create the best results.
For what we become, we dream, and to dream, we must live. Like life, dreams are tunnels and we must sway through.
In that dark journey lies a vessel—yourself.
Flowers and thorns both exist in that path,
but you must know that you are not alone.
There’s an end to sadness, uncertainty, failure, rejection, and heartbreak.
But to fully sink into goodness, you must first be buried in the fins of kismet.
The thick padded clouds show their thighs, but can never stop the skylight or the rain. What I become, I become. What I seek, I seek. What seeks me, answers me first. For all the lives I couldn't live, embrace me in the next. And for all the dreams I couldn’t dream, wake me up in the next.
Copyright © Tonye George | Year Posted 2024
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Tonye George Poem
I've always showered
care on ungrateful trees,
the ones that bloomed
and the ones that withered.
I watered them anyway.
In this chaotic world,
compassion is made slavery,
chained with entitlement
and false lovebites,
yet my tender heart
endures through the raid
and self-inflicted questions
of why I have to succumb
to an endless tide.
Sometimes in regret of why
goodness chose me as its heir,
I flip out, leaving the throne empty.
Though I wage wars not to be
kind anymore, I find myself retreating.
In the end, it is nature's course for me.
But should I drown in empathy
that l lose my mind? My use or
willingness to set boundaries
and say No when the shoes
don't fit my legs? For I have
been in the watch house
without looking. It took me
courage and self-awareness
to glare beyond the boiling surface.
I washed my eyes in
discernment and worth,
to dive past the silent suck.
I befriended clarity and in her depth,
I learnt to work with both minds.
For kindness doesn't exist to
drain me but help me find my path.
So I dished portions of bitter
sour soups to users and
drummers without rhythm,
Just to test their intent
and they smiled at its
sweetness.
They would forge a life in
death just to drain the
remaining water in my
well. I let them go in
thirst because there's barely
a drop left for me and my heart
has now tested the rough edges
of the valleys and the shape
of my eyes have been born anew.
So conscious, it wouldn't flinch
if dust was thrown in it.
And the lovers that used to ride
on my patchless boat, they have
now drowned, since the engines only
worked in the purity of their needs.
It is not I that led them to
destruction, It is their greed.
I offered them bandages still,
I showed them the path,
I directed them through the journey,
I didn't go with them else they would
make me lose my way and distract
me from the gold mine in front.
My peace has never been this full.
Full of happiness and Bluebells.
I am a Watchman that sees
through the dark forest and
I shall live a long life setting
those standards.
Still an heir to the throne
now I sit with an eagle eye.
My soul in good deeds
will never be used again.
Copyright © Tonye George | Year Posted 2024
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Tonye George Poem
Your memories quirk in the rays of
stagnant oceans,
my yearning hangs on the tail of the dark
knight moon
as it illuminates the beats of your heart
racing through shadows.
Let us dance all night long sneaking
through the rehearsal of a royal ball
so echoes of your voice leave a trail
in my heart that my thoughts can't
comprehend.
I am lost in the awry beauty of your silence.
even when the waves haul your kiss from
its shores
the wind leads them back to me.
our bodies are synchronously intertwined
with beautiful melodies.
imaginations spread in wildfire, our
names written on the flames.
squeeze me in a smile of scented bluebells
soaked in the berries of your wrong I play
you right.
In the winter sonata
our eyes met in an estuary where our love
was sung by evening birds that flew
through the road of our sailing feet.
What more can I ask of life when saturated
and adorned with tons of rare petals that
stick to me like galium aparine.
I could gaze at you through the spring of
snow and ruffle your hair until the tides ride
low.
My love for you works
against the laws of
time, not fitting into a
scale we will soar like
the sirens of the deep blue sea.
My love, you have shown me ways to exist
amidst cheerful demons and I promise to
spend it all with you even in immortality.
Wrapped in a ballet of
cherry blossom, your
arms are like Fur in the
snow of winter sonata.
Copyright © Tonye George | Year Posted 2023
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Tonye George Poem
In the heated performance of the day,
summer wet evenings close the
curtains, concluding with a thunder
jest and a gift of wipe. The crawling
claws of the ceaseless winds surrender
it pretends to the warmth of the sun's
embrace.
After a cheer with the scorching
temperatures and blazing burns
she wears her coat like an
uninvited guests tapping the
windows and rooftops
with her tiny fingers,
flapping in no unique direction
she lets go of her charades,
undressing, as her wet skin takes a
shower, curling so beautifully in
diverse shades she murmurs to the
clouds on when to smile.
The skies frown
blindly, not even the
rays demur her request
to hailstorm the earth alongside her
hums and banters. She builds her intensity
in a rhythmic drum of forceful tranquillity.
She evokes memories of childhood and a sneaky link to the past. I watch the trees outside my house twirl without rhyme at her call. She sings to my ears and I crave every tune while we sip our lemonade and run for cover and dance in leisure as she pours swiftly like a wounded river. She runs against our skin, tickling our
senses and for a moment we forget the hot summer day.
She's the purest form of taste, her subtle flavours bounce through my buds. Her voice, a lurking lullaby.
She nourishes in perfection after a wrestle with clueless dust and pollen making the greens below shake their limbs at her bloom. Her magical touch fills the air as haze. Her spirit thrives with nature. She sweeps the hideouts of little creatures bringing branches of her hypnotic melancholic romance. She stirs too much it soaks.
Her petrichor roams the air,
rejuvenating the season's sensory
displays. Though short-lived.
Her echoes linger in abundance
than her quick depart.
She maintains a balance in being a
blessing and a curse.
Just so you remember she's a
goddess, she leaves her hues
behind, sets the stunning sunsets
in serenity. She wanders the sea,
valleys hills and mountains as she
hush little babies white, in the spell of
sunshine. For every lava cry from the sky,
there's a peck of ice crystals that shields it.
Copyright © Tonye George | Year Posted 2024
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Tonye George Poem
In a ballet of restrictive and
stifling carriage, we strike into
the depths of our imagination
and boundless intuition on a
rollercoaster soaring free from
rigid clips, venturing into a cosmic
sphere where dreams take flight,
on Saturn's rings,
exhilarating twists and turns.
Firm on the grand stage,
we play roughly and smoothly,
each length, a part of nature's layers.
Flames cannot be known by names
alone, until a touch signifies its
friendliness, an improvised whirl
flows from each planet's curves,
a feeling extended to its neighbours.
We shamelessly surrender to
the rhythm of the divine,
navigating each realm
through our inner voice,
slowly bringing it to reality,
where we find our worth in
positive existence.
Nature's wings sting through the
murmurs of rustling trees.
The twirl of the winds sings
whispers of vibrations.
Silent energy embraces the soul
of the moon, giving us insights
where we paint through without
worrying about the result.
Entangled in the sweet rhythm
of unknown tones with languages
that stir you into another dimension,
beating to the smile of strangers,
soaring high just to see low.
Play tags without keeping taps.
Read dialogues to friends with
no lines, go unnoticed in perfection,
craving attention so you live without scripts.
Discarding narrow thought flow crutch
We learn directly by soft touch
And what we garner we relay
To the vast void in childlike play
Entwined this with the universe
We dance without the need to rehearse.
Copyright © Tonye George | Year Posted 2024
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Tonye George Poem
I spring alone with forgotten memories and shattered letters, I waltz through every landscape, I leap unendingly, sprinkling imprints of my fondness as rippled dunes and filtered secrets. I am passion and chaos, beauty and power, I jog in hair ice and frost flowers, stroking my lover jealous. I pour out shields of ideas and inspirations, gently on your soul when I fondle through her arms. And when we clash, I become a dust devil, I swirl like Turnado in heights splashing debris into your eyes leading to tumultuous storms.
Copyright © Tonye George | Year Posted 2024
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Tonye George Poem
[Quantum Superposition]
"A particle can exist in multiple states or places simultaneously until measured."
To my lover, I was first a beaming stranger,
then a sunflower whose juice sustained him.
To my mother, a nosy, buzzing fly,
and a tangerine sunset she never fails to watch.
To the world, perhaps a preying eagle,
the wind—fearless as her wrath—
the snow, too cold, too soft, too hard, yet anticipated.
But to myself, a masterpiece,
a soul swaying into the stem of a viper,
whose teeth are yet to grow numb.
This soul lives in the heart of my past lovers
until they let go.
I crave to be the painter and the builder,
the ripper and the broken,
until I find a gaze firm enough to heal me,
one to silence these recurring chokes.
My mind is a shattered portal,
a hall of reflections where my past selves
undress in mirrors of confusion,
their shadows circling until I find them.
Trees scattered across the earth,
seas jogging through unjust valleys.
Like how my dreams unfold their decaying
wings on the knees of my present,
while faithfully weaving her trauma craftsmanship
into the cardigan of my future,
and her shaky feet swinging through the cemetery,
my past once lived, all assembling in my mind and yours.
I heard a girl say, "I have found my sadness in your palm,
my tears pooling in your eyes—
like mother, discovering my smile in yours
until a name cuts the trick,
because we share a face."
I hear the claws of my emotions,
a feral heir demanding my attention and
that of my neighbour.
But, I wake first from my dreams,
before I escape the weight of my bed.
I have lived a night before my morning.
I hope you see how Sorrow grips the
tongues of children—
separated by geography, bonded by death and fate—
losing parents to battles locked in casualties of greed,
long before they were born.
Today, I scoff at the call of my father,
the creator of my ivory pain,
the sole of my cloying muse—
a song I refuse to sing,
though its lyrics are buried in my throat.
Now, I am laid among lavender and lilies,
waiting to bloom into a garden.
Every choice I’ve made
was once a thought tied to an unconscious root
before it found a name.
Every battle began as a quest,
shared as vision, purpose, and then victory.
I have seen joy kiss the faces
of too many shores at once,
until pain came knocking.
In this reality, I am an author,
an impersonator, an artist, a preacher.
A body thrown to the earth,
a spirit floating in hidden realms,
a soul waiting to be found again—
to live forever.
Copyright © Tonye George | Year Posted 2025
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Tonye George Poem
Devoted to imperfections like rituals ~
they make my tiny hook break unusual.
Copyright © Tonye George | Year Posted 2023
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Tonye George Poem
Summer's salty doom knocked
ruggedly as I lay on the
sheets of tormented
threats and turmoil.
Jerks at the slightest beep.
Gasps at a faint knock.
Soaked in muddy debts
of frauds. A muscle pull of shame,
death's soulful companion.
The world didn't stop cascading.
I did. My brain froze.
My veins couldn't remember my blood,
and I could feel its stiffness through my
cold skin. I stopped living.
It felt like he who created time set
me on a boundless, devastating fall.
I was a lagomorph of
enchanted snares.
A labyrinth of taloned twists.
The anatomy of lingered pain.
Where the back of my brain no
longer received prompts,
maybe because I had weaved
pain so much that its loins
found solace in my abdomen,
intertwined with
my soul's verisimilitude.
Nadia's fist and pals alike.
Appeared to grip me.
But I craved aloneness.
I couldn't tell which
hand was a viper.
Fluids of thunderous tangerine
mines jogged my customized gaze.
It was neither a feeling nor an emotion.
It was dreadful emptiness,
same with the physical state
of my hut. A presage of
betrayed thoughts entangled
through my darkness.
Decorated in beige clouds
of adversity, I sunk into a
spellbound loophole.
A rend of rageful vaquita
Invaded my closed Lacuna,
Filled with sharks of injuries
Ready to let loose.
I plunged into a cynosure of
drunken tenebrosity.
Like a mishap, unheeded.
You would think I was a
Leadless peregrine in escort
Of blinded dolphins.
I dug into the earth's inner core.
My eyes went blurry.
I could breathe the
juices of my burnt spirit.
I should have left.
The pit of cause.
But even the mirror couldn't
recognize itself through me,
so how could I?
How could I have found myself?
In a mind sea filled with shattered,
blurry memories and
murdered mundane desires.
I was despair and denial
in a basket of calls.
Muted mutation in caskets of answers. Bones birthed blood.
Fractions purged from my spine.
I was a nightmare,
the kind with lashes of
stale runes drawn like tattoos with fermented, ghastly inks.
I was the ocean—merciless.
A curse tied to a repetitive fate.
The water in me represented
the seasonal tears, and
unlike humans, mine never dried up.
A constant reminder of bloated anguish. Every day, I watched people
find pleasure in my pain
when they looked at me,
when they touched me.
Their laughter and tranquillity
threw me to the depths of myself.
My demise.
Copyright © Tonye George | Year Posted 2024
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Tonye George Poem
Charred in solace of your embrace
reminiscences engrossed as imprint
harboured in placards of your grace
A birth, a thousand with no squint
in winter's pure pour of snow
reminiscences engrossed as imprint
Giggling with nights glow
in waxes and treelights
in winter's pure pour of snow
One who ignites in delights
grining in fire and refuge
in waxes and treelights
A festivity of tunes and rouge
that twirls in vitality
grining in fire and refuge
Presents reciprocated in sib purity
charred in solace of your embrace
that twirls in vitality
harboured in placards of your grace
Copyright © Tonye George | Year Posted 2023
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