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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Wednesday, 22 August 2012

Die another day.

My body trembled like an weary pole in a winter storm. I reached out for my pocket leaving trails of sweat and pulled out a crumbled box. At that moment, it was either my superman or grim reaper.
I spread open its wings to access what I hoped would be left in it. I took a glance inside the small box of cherry cigarettes, for a second it looked empty- my heart stuttered.
I quickly stashed the last one into my mouth placing it firmly between the clenching hold of what was left of my black lips. I then reached out for my other pocket to pull out a purple lighter that was halfway empty and the words,” only chain smokers carry around fire,” rung through my head.
I questioned what had I become. The thought blurred after I remembered I had to quench my undying thirst. I thrust the lighter with my succulent thumb and like Caveman I sparked a fire.
It formed up from the small hole of the purple lighter and I lit the edge of my firework. The first pull of death strangled my throat with an ice cold sting, and it went down to my decaying lungs.
The edge of my cigarette crumbled down to the floor in a simultaneous sequence. . I burnt down the spire to its foundation and the building, my body got destroyed once again by this foreign terrorist.
My mind eased up, sweat dried as I got smothered by cigarette smoke.
My heart, after inhuman pounding- settled, and it felt like I would live to see another day…

Tuesday, 31 July 2012

OuT Of ThIs WoRld

"Excusez-moi, excusez moi."
She spoke her words gently
like a blue jay that sangin the hours of breaking dawn.
My words refreshing like orchestra symphonies
cried out there reason, but only to be pardoned.
and once again I attempted, 
"Je t’aime, je t’aime... Je t’aime"

"Excusez-moi, excusez moi,"
It did not grow old to my ears.
It only brought me to a point of return
and like a swirling bee, I stung her once again
"Mon nom est Aldridge," I whispered,
She giggled and I knew my venture had seen light.
"vous et moi, should start a family tree and ,
 live by the sea, in our breeze of love,
Je t’aime, je t’aime... Je t’aime,"

"Excusez-moi, excusez moi,"
It did not grow old to my ears,
and the fact that she was from Venus,
and I was from mars,
never stopped me from telling her
that she was out of this world.

"You speak the language of love," 
I told her,
"be my tutor of this beauty and,
I will scribble it all over you heart,
and the sands of our hour glass of love-
shan't run out for it will 
be over flooded;
Albeit, our worlds apart, 
let me take you away and cherish you.
for I have travelled many miles only to fall for you…
"Je t’aime, je t’aime… Je t’aime"

If you loved this, check out what happened after on
 Sans toi je serais mort

Dear father,

How do I make something from nothing?
How do I know what is right and what is wrong
yet what is wrong is before me like an open door?
Taunting "truth" through my eyes and into my mind.
What does the future hold for me?
Will I walk the streets I hope to take on? 
Will I leave the mark I hope to leave? 
Will I be just another fallen leaf of nature?
How can I see it all in my mind but fail to play it out?
What is the point of a dream when living it is but a dream?
How will I prosper yet I tethered to fear?
The gift of love, you have given to me in so many ways, 
sings to me songs of encouragement and support, 
but ambiguous scripture can only do so much.
My past has gone by like a one way train, 
Yet I yearn for the past, live in present, 
while my mind strays for the future, 
a future so bright in my mind yet uncertain.
It's a whim, a myth; a retold story in my mind.   
I only hope that when you open the doors. 
You flood us with opulence in this world of seemingly hopeless dreams, 
where we now struggle to live up to the expectations set by those fore front.
We can only turn to you for guidance and I am another one of your children,
whose sins you hate but I pray you enable me to inspire the dreams of many.

Your son.

Thursday, 28 June 2012

Foul Lover

Now that it’s over and we are sober,
the blue sky has turned sombre,
it's sending its cats and dogs to come over,
at least in rain I can hide my wet cheeks.

I reminisced those long nights,
when I tried to read you,
now I understand the results,
I guess I'm not book smart.

As much as we can grow into love
there's always room for hate after love.
I don't speak in relation towards hating you,
but the feeling that I have could compare.

Never did I treat you with despair,
but you always treated me like a spare
you were reckless and it was unfair;
although, sometimes you did care.

But it reached out for you,
like a patient praying mantis,
and you left me without a pair,
will I ever be man enough?

Yet I eagerly waited on you,
I always though it half time,
but I should have played referee,
and gave you a red card for your foul love.

I don't regret the interjections,
I mean, I had my good times
despite the misconceptions,
I guess our love failed the test of time. 

Tuesday, 29 May 2012

Broken legs never killed no-body...

The feeling of failure was consuming me.
 I became timid, courage turned leaf like-
being blown away by hurricanes of pessimism.

The meadow of lustrous dreams yonder away, 
that I had always ogled at since childhood, 
feels like an extract from ladybird tales.

I had laid out a blue print,
to run track and-
achieve a milestone.

Soon as I had started,
my legs wore out and broke off.
They are now throwing banter,
telling me how I'm going no where,
I'd have pointed fingers but I played as coach too...

I am now broken but can try again,
for an incandescent flame of hope still burns within, 
I was lit and tamed to toil on and not give in. 
So now that I am crawling,
I shall learn to walk again,
then I shall sprint across the meadow,
till I fade...