Poetry: The Things I Cannot Do

What abomination has touched the moon?
What has time asked to come back soon?
Is it the pages of the sky I turned over?
Is it the one that calls itself night, as to cover?
Up or down.
All I have not wanted has found the ground.
All I ever wanted to do so
has become a deed to grow.
The incorruptible tongue
that draws bridges too long.
The hands of wizardry
that starts fires burning torching degree.
Tell me what I have missed out when I laid here,
for no word can stand to see all I can bear.
They become a language and knit into stories,
If it was a building, what I cannot do would build many stories.

Ruddapoet
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I know i can’t ride my bike on a bay,
Sit and watch my day become a waste.
I forbid it; that I’ll be gay
And to vain pleasures be a prey.
I’ve tried not to fail my self’s test,
From my dreams I must not hide or be shy.
I won’t let go of my faith,
And be the Devil’s bait.
I can’t tie a rope around my neck or ankle,
Attempting to take my own life.
And God forbid I forsake my family,
And my newly found love, Poetry.

Emny Circuit.
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They are plenty and many
These things I cannot do
One is to live a life of no penny
The other is have a friend that is not true
Perfect reason I can’t lie to Bennie

I won’t do the things I can’t do
She has to know
That is a requirement for us to grow
like no stressing over fancy food when all there is, is garri
Yes, we both must conform for the relationship to tarry

Snizel.
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This is what ended my first and last conversations,
Building walls and introducing me to incantations.
Truth be told , not so much is to be written
For they are numbered ; one to ten.

The things I cannot do are pretty sane,
Holding my hands but always leaving me same.
They are what keeps you awake at night
The ones that made you loose your first fight.

People I use I also call things
For before the calls ,comes the rings.
But I know that they are a guarded few,
And they come along with every morning dew.

Miidong.
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Impossibilities hung above my head
It created fears and whispers when the night was dead
The fear of the known and the unknown
If my life was real and truly my own
If I die today would I rise up tomorrow?
If only I can summon the sun from the west
And set it in the north when I want to rest
Perhaps I stop all of the wars of the world
End terrorism, racism and a thousand and one other isms
Make all human view each other from one and not two prisms
If I can swallow all of the pain of world
And paint a better tomorrow with my words
Become the beautiful things I yearn to write
The gift I crave is to do the things that I cannot do
So that everyday would be abundant rain
And everyone would join the moving train

Ayodeji
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What I won’t do is swallow my pride.
It’d choke; the lump would be heavy inside.
Like walking away from a miserable sin,
Only to return to the same thing.
What I will do is not wait for you,
It’s true, the one who cuts bleeds too.
I will suck out your pain, be your catheter,
Agree with the clouds to be a good weather.
And as we grow,
I want you to know…
The fires you start in the open,
I’ll put out in the close.
I know i harvested a tulip,
But I can wake up to a rose.
I may not do the morning dance,
But i cannot do without forgiving and holding hands.

Leonell