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Sunday, 17 September 2017

City of Angels


City of angels but no wings are needed here, through the tunnels we all get dirt on our shoulders.

Those with wings shed them off, it is no use in the gutters of life.

We shed skins but that doesn't make us new borns, again born, clean slate

Snakes with bite marks crying out for fair play.. stones are thrown with guilty conscience, confessions to those that have more to confess to.

Do not wear white to an all white party, you will be the only one with the odd cloth on, at the end of the night.

I bleed but I have no cuts on, it is all internal, my cure is laughter.  Laugh out loud like a mad man on therapy

Don't ask the priest what I said, he is tongue tied to carry my off loaded burden. How fair is that to push my weighted average on him to carry.

Then day breaks, everything gets swept under the carpet. You have to learn to let go, it is the only way to make it to dawn.

Amnesia has more in blessing to give to help forget and carry on. Cold nights are a nightmare.

Shedding weight, and the fat guy looks like he who ate all the pie, trouble is, there are so many fat ones around.

Beggers strike in protest and Joseph is being economical with the interpretation of pharoah's dreams.

Friday, 1 September 2017

The red mist


The red mist is the devil to the wise man's peace.

His reasoning and patience, his calm and his toughts.

For such storms explodes and fires lighting strikes

That are purposeful to sabotage, good reasoning

I have sat with sage too many times to have forgotten what he looks like.

But sometimes I just walk past in a hurry with such speeds

In search of him, when it matters most

Watching a fish drown in its own habitat

Today I found my medicine after yesterday's red mist

We are wise, yes indeed we are, the world knows we are

But foolish at the edges where stitches that hold our strings  together become undone

Sage warned me about this, he said he experienced it himself

That to all wise men, be careful of the red mist.

It is the devil to a wise man's peace

It is the devil to a wise man's peace. 

Wednesday, 30 August 2017

The creed


I am the best of my kind,
kindly resist in opening up my can,

Can you please not entice me to react,

Reach out into my bag and pull something out of line.

Believe me, I see goodness as my faith

Fine, that means you and I are judged the same

Sum, up for weighted average you best be doubling your effort to meet your gain.

Life is flashing lights then we old and grey

Agreed, and no one is stronger or richer than time

 I know you see it as an insult to your pride

But who cares, the most is courtesy to save your grace not mine

Mind you, respect, that is a priviledge not a right

Rightly so to concede

I am the best of my kind, kindly resist in opening up my can

Tuesday, 29 August 2017

A Cat in Prayers



Sometimes even the cat finds a need to stand and pray.

We need a prayer just to make it through these times, I say we pray.

The rats are not to be trusted, no cheese will stand their temptation

The rats are not to be trusted.

I have seen their cry, begging on both knees on the floor of desperation

No sooner they grow wings and invade after being allowed space

Boldly taking up positions and demanding their claim

In broad day light, they stand, no longer hiding from view

They sleep at night now, and challenge the order by day

Sometimes even the cat, finds a need to stand and pray.

Asking when did the rat get so bold to demand a colony

And make a stand, take a stand, eye balling

Oh time hides too many, soo many secrets from realization

How else would the cat have been caught in such twisted position

Have his face, dragged through the mud.

When options gave proposition that  left better odds on the table we took non

Do not trust the rats, this I say to you

For today because of them, even the cat finds a need to stand on twos to pray.

Cat in prayers, with wounded pride.

Monday, 7 August 2017

Solid into nothing


Runners with cars, swimmers with speedboats, a vegetarian with meat. Quater pounder

A poor man with wealth, a short man as a giant. Gulliver's travel

Life gets confusing, bright as day when the moon comes out, full at night. The wolves sing songs 

A ghost with skin, an  anorexia fat man, a dried up sea and the Sahara was once a forest, sex change. Who flipped it all.

Fact is fiction, plus a pinch of salt
Pandora left her box empty. The thief got tricked

Somewhere I read the south and north pole are flipping their magnetic fields. True story.

Some say miracles have lost their value "paper weight"

I swear I am taking a stand, this time firm on solid grounds, below me the tectonic plates are moving. Earth quakes 

Earth is moving at a speed of 67, 000 miles an hour, speed limits on school runs

Who called the sloth slow, sat in these speeds, are you serious.

Nothing is as it seems to be, past a given condition, every solid is liquid, heated up, past liquid is vapor, then beyond that which my eyes sees.

I ask past my sight, does anything have meaning?

My third eye is without sight but wide to the views of conscious visions

Intelligence is never physical, that is just observation based on a given point of view. Assumptions

I breathe God everyday, I feel it in the weathers play, it is in the connection bond I have with others

It is the feeling in my heart the first organ made of me, made for me.

I am not what you see, solid into nothing

I am the feeling you have when you are around me

I am what you think of me, in my absence.

So tell me, what does a rich man has of value

What does a poor man has so poor

Runners with cars, swimmers with speedboat. 

Who are you fronting , fronting. 

Do you see me or feel me in your presence 

Do you sense me from a distance 

I am thunder, tell runners with cars, I am thunder 
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