Seasons Change

You were my climate

I would bend & yield to your slightest variation

When you were my sun, I would dress down for you, all skin, melanin, exposure

Blanketed by your warmth

 I vacationed in your love

 

Until the season called for your coldness

I would grimace & endure your presence

Like a sore throat in recovery

 

The autumns of your indifference

Brought with it a kaleidoscope of mystery

As the leaves fell from our dreams

Unrealised

We marvelled at the unsettling paradox

That the beauty of our ideals may never be fully actualised

But the beauty stands unwavering

All the same

 

The winter of our love

Brought with it a necessary mourning

As I purged you, heart and soul

Piercing through with icy precision

I allowed it to hurt

I gloried in the courage it took to brave your coldness

To endure

Until the last morsel of this blizzarding love

Melted away

 

Bringing forth a spring of reflection

Of clarity

As I meditated on all the reasons I had to leave:

That no matter how hard I adapt

To your vicissitudes

Your endless variations

I found myself staring

Perpetually

At this ticket back

To myself

 

For my heart is a tropical island

Of dreams & beauty & irresistible warmth

Until my rain comes like a hot baptism

Ready to cleanse & make a new

To saver in the promise of a warmer tomorrow

 

And for now, maybe that’s what I need more

As I vacationed in your temperate maritime climate

It is time for this sojourning solider to return home

A Poet in Love |Excerpt from a book I may write

It was the mystery her midnight eyes exude that I found most alluring. The little tell tell signs of emotions that eyes of a different shade would reveal unconsciously; her dark brown hues kept hidden.

And I gaze into them; searching for the dilated pupils, the star struck glow, that faint glimmer and airiness that would all but confirm my suspicions. But instead I lose myself in this search; in an opal sea, for it is only her eyes that have the power to overwhelm and entrap me.

– I love her wildly.

The Corrupted Wordsmith

wordsmith

Who would win in a battle

Of brain against brawn?

When your flesh becomes your only weapon

To defend the scorned.

 

The scorned being you,

Humiliated and impassioned

And in need of retribution

By any means.

 

But in this world

You are provided with only one

Where guns and knives are at the hands of none

When in the game of vengeance

 

The choice is yours, young fellow

The rules are quite clear and concise

You may have brawn or you may have brain

Physical strength or wisdom’s gains

 

Many a fool chose brawn

As blind fury can lead one to believe

That physical injuries will suffice

That blood and gore is what you need.

 

But I, a wordsmith, of the venomous sort

Know more of the delightful damage my words can do

I have just the thing to leave a sting,

The enduring tormenting kind

 

If the brain is something that interests you.

 

If so, I can assist you in your malefic endeavours

Teach you the power of mental wounds

Skill you in the art of breaking a heart

Without breaking a sweat.

 

I know how to kill a person

From the inside out

The type of pain they can never treat

The type of death they can never escape

 

I know of a death that greets you every waking hour

That will paralyse and steal your life

Until it is nothing

But a succession of torment, that you are forced to relive & relive

 

Now, if that is something that interests you, fine fellow,

I am just the wordsmith for you

Brute force can get you so far, but

With brains, with me, words can get you the rest of the way.

 

The choice is always yours.