A depth you can’t reach
You mistake her for a switch
Behind her high thin walls
A garden of butterfly stalls
Painted in grey and a splatter of ash
A glimpse inside will trigger a dash
But you who’s blinded by ideas
Holding falsehood a little too dear
What they say about books and covers
Similar to passengers in choppers
Faith built us the end of the road
Now we’re stuck with its heavy load.
We wake to abide by a code
And take the frog for a toad.
Well, so did Cain and Abel.
Now we’ve bought but can’t lose or sell.
The knife is sharper blunt
The back is farther front.
History didn’t release us
She paid for this road-cross bus. Leon
A Sexy wanton in the yard.
A praying goddess for religion card.
Beliefs made her live double
She loved parties
She loved the trouble
She had hobbies
That were far from Holy temple.
Gentle, she loved the dance,
Whirled in Sexy gowns
She wasn’t close to worship town – Rachel Charles
Blinded by scarlet rose.
Ties unbroken in overdose.
Yet we long for freedom from those.
Another myth in consideration.
A masked face on a mask.
A tasked mind with a task.
To finish up or end.
A belief that we must bend.
A life after death be sent. Hypermind
Thinking the end, the start
Thinking the horse, the cart
Walking at purpose
Within the lethal dose
Of needs and cares and wants.
So lost in our service
That we assumed were His
And missing the mountains for hills
Blinded by sight where seeing was freedom
Lost in dark nights where hung a bright sun. -Seun
The poet has his one belief
if it’s known, an atheist would grief.
Have you tried to study his bible
to synchronise his words deep in your mind.
You have no idea when his bulb shines
or lights his way when it’s not even dark.
I still read psalms and weep for dead-gone words
my faith lies in what I perceive more.
Here’s your fate in the shadowed poem
your lips are blind from aching ego – Ruddapoet
They all saw do,
Or say do,
Creating a hollow,
Their mind shallow,
Devour of deep reasoning,
Chanting all the wind brings to ear,
Believing it’ll make them hallow,
“There are mean monsters in the dark
With teeth that glisten like those of a shark”
Who dreams without going to sleep
But there’s the thought of the monsters that creep
Nights become boiling volcanoes to sail
On frail hearts and faint guts doomed to fail
The scribblings on a virgin slate
Leaves stains that’ll always determine the state
A king without a throne and crown
Is likely to be taken for a clown. Tee2emm