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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Tuesday, 13 May 2014

Dear Allah,

He's killing me softly!

For guidance I seek your knowledge,
yet fear I might get lost in this voyage.
I trust in you and your voice,
I might not hear it make a sound,
ayeh it does astound me,
when I hear it recited out loud.

Like Mohammed Ali,
I'll carry my match sticks with me.
to remind me of the flames,
that I could dwindle down into
if I fail to win these earth games.

My opponent makes it harder,
his game reminds me that this life;
is no simple ship to sail.
His beckoning temptations;
ask me to tag onto his tail,
yet from his path I seek Holy bail.

The strings of music attract me,
I seek to make a living of their beauty.
yet the tales of the past forbid me.
and I seek not to go against Ye,
nor the Prophet that preached to we.

The preaching seems so distorted,
yet on this new path I am devoted;
to enfeeble my desires and reach your empire.
Still though, I am lost like a child,
crawling to you in this sticky bile,
poured over earth with his quirky style.

for he continues to tempt me,
my eyes now gather sin for me.
but in your silhouette from enlightening psalms
I'll blind them and keep them tamed.
so I can look down and keep from shame;

Like a blind man in this game.
Yet he too, could have thoughts;
so cruel and demeaning.
thus putting me in a dark cage-
impure- weak and misguided;
victim to choice short of forbearance.

He's killing me softly,
aiding my death and giving my heart misery.
ayeh seated on the ground humbled,
I'll read your word and keep bound,
to the ground that makes me and takes me.

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