Morning will wear her worst green to envy us
These syllables were meant to stress words in
About the crosses that pressure makes a fuss
Seat outside this box, within is a coffin
To you is a memory gloved in passion
To you, losing is how we begin to win.
To you, these letters are numbers we sat on
As I bet on the face of promise today
We would serve in your kitchen,wear your apron
We would worry happiness, hold hands and pray,
Hoping healing will help drive distress away.
What is purpose?
Who tends a garden?
Who has sorrow gladdened?
Is this struggle for a fee?
Does a cut ever make us bleed?
Is slavery the opposite of free?
Life. You beach,
On whose tides Men
Strive;fighting to live.
Just like the rippling waves
Of still waters freshly stirred,
How do you manage to settle?
Why are you so hard to understand?
On most days,I find myself sorting through views
Trying to unmask the purpose of this life
Perusing journals,articles and reviews
Seeking to know the myth on glamour and strife;
The difference between the poor and the rich.
My misunderstanding of this Is quite rife
To some the purpose is kill, others to preach
Mine? perhaps to birth words that’d be used to rhyme
Purpose is the one true height everyone must reach
Climbing closely clear with reference to time
Fight fervently for first your own purposed dime
Dear Death, it seems we’ve crossed path.
Were you that man who did steal Kim’s breathe?
You’re as cruel and swift like
Your own tears told the ground
Your bosom feels sour
I beseech you
To hide your
I once wrote about how your cold touch still chafe
How to your smooth, quiet schemes, many fell prey
How effortlessly many men seemed so safe
How adoring the corpse look with the bouquet
Building our muscles as we dig deep our graves
Souls trapped in your scary cage all in dismay
Living, waiting to answer your call, proud slaves
Clay, ash, bodies will return, bury or cremate
Being or beast,our dear lives are all he craves
Mysteriously making miserable bait
We will wait watchfully,we wait your next date.
I have felt pain that blurred my small mind
Dear Mr death , who then are you?
Come show thy face before me.
Take a seat and have tea
But first, can you speak
To save us all
Or just me
Only a few thing have got me wondering
Answers to my wonder, i shall seek surely
For time has brought me on my knees in a ring
I know to this life there is an end;truly
I do not seek pleasure or solace but fine
For this world has seen my worst, most brutally
A beautiful end I crave and a firm spine
To feed my toil and carcass my lame ego
For every thing I know hang on a lace line
To all that will exist, seasons come and go
but I will leave memories that friends will tell
For i have been firm as a French man bread dough
Tell this tale but make the end as smooth as gel
For I alone know what was, I never fell
Again, where did you come from, Mister?
Your clawing shade clouding our minds.
Are you the one who takes lives,
Or the one that’s almost…?
Man of many names,
Is that your name
Why and how does the world call you by this name?
The taker, the lingering pain in your fork.
You have lived like since the beginning of pain.
Always doing dirty jobs as your handwork.
You’re like the end spiraling into the void.
I see you in your black hood doing your work.
Tell it to the weak that the strong can’t avoid.
Your stench, your eyes, your fist and even your feet.
Take your children and give them names of devoid.
We will warm and warn our hearts that are your meat.
That this taking and traveling, we will beat.