The Vessel

Count not offences done you from ages past,
Nor daily reheat evils done you for repast.
It is a heavy task to forgive with ease
But even more punishing to lose your peace.
Let not hatred keep any man in your debt
For acid destroys the vessel in which it is kept.

The Epic Prince. 2016.

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A Drunkard Bemoans Himself

I am now a slave
To the perspiring bottle of alcohol beside me.
I rush along to it
To escape the trauma bottled up inside me.

It helps me.
Well, so I thought at first
But now,
I’m helpless. Without a tot, I thirst.

It was a good servant, now turned master,
Commanding fast and destroying faster.
We have had good times before
And I well remember it all.

It stood by me when I lost my dear one,
Gave me the iron courage of man,
It was with me when I had that broken heart
And, by the power of percentages, healed my deepest cut.

But then, I went to sleep,
Calm, sound and deep.
Only to shriek, wake up and find
Myself still stuck, in the grief I left behind.

The Paradox of Pleasing People

I used to trek daily,
They called me a miser.
I bought an expensive car,
They said I wasn’t any wiser.

I kept to myself,
They called me anti-so.
When I began to mingle,
They called it a pesky show.

I wore a straight face,
They called me intimidating.
When I began to smile,
They said it was ingratiating.

I refused to talk,
They asked me to speak my mind.
When I obliged,
I was much maligned.

I am always the subject,
The ever questionable him.
Even when I walked on water,
They said I couldn’t swim.

The Poet As A Citizen

He is a noble citizen who pays his dues,
In profound meters, rhymes and verses.
He is a custodian of ethics, norms and values
Teaching the people and judging the judges.

He exposes the cancerous fibers of society,
Keeps an eagle eye on the arenas of authority,
He foresees before any, all signs of impending doom
And screams out cautions as they loom.

When the world sways in deviant veins,
Upon eternal truths, he steadfast remains.
He risks dear life and the pomp of popular favour
For unto God alone he looks for the honors of his labour.

The poet, as a citizen, is a man of weight
For by his pen, he rights the wrongs of the state.

The Memory of Man

Man may be the greatest creature we know,
But he is an atomic part of the great whole.
He builds families, cars and houses
But leaves them all behind when he passes.

He prides himself in titles and noble birth
But is ultimately levelled with all men by death.

Yet, when he goes,
The sun will not cease to rise
Nor the moon abort the midnight skies.

Seasons will come and go
Relatives shall forget their loss.
Time and tide shall toss and roll
And nature, again, will run her course.

WORD.
17/05/16. 11:39pm.

Before We Begin

Regards, my dear friend and reader companionable.

I hope this work meets you in health sound and stable.

Imagining my words before your eyes is an honour I appreciate a great deal.

So come! Come read my mind and what I in my heart innermost feel.

Granted. My pieces, with all their shortcomings, are singularly my own

But I hope that through them, your own perceptiveness shall be made known.

Survey the whole; not faults to find

For such an aim can render the vision of mind blind.

Read and judge every work of wit

In the same spirit as I have written it.

I humbly suggest you be not overly critical in a bid to find microscopic imperfections.

Be rather open-minded, examine in honesty and I trust you shall find some valuable lessons.

Thank you.

WORD.

17/05/16 @ 02:26am