LINES AND VERSES

How do you even do it, go on bended knees, and pray? What do you say to Him; that the ones you drive to untimely demise deserve your designed fate? Or that you are the purest of the stock, purging the earth of scum and slush? Perhaps, you try a new, intricate narrative each day and winning all your arguments. Or maybe you forget your points   –   some sort of amnesia, huh? Then you take it out on the rest because they missed a point of view. How do you sleep at night? Do you ever dream? Does your mind ever pick up something your conscience missed? Do you ever hear them scream? Do you hear the agonizing of the dying, feel the pain of their futile grasp? Aha, I see you don’t. When you look yourself in the mirror, do you give yourself a wink of content before you practice a new fearsome demeanor to scare humanity? How do you even see your own face and not turn that Kalashnikov on it and put the earth out of its misery?

It's the way you look at me It's sends fire through my spine Lights the tempter's flame... Oh fire of passion, the enemy within You burn me out, whisper "surrender" And my strength is not the same. Each time you look at me I thaw like wax on fire, yearn To be remolded by your touch And sentenced by your words. It's the way you look at me, Igniting my senses, leaving me Senseless. © Jude Ifeme Sent from Yahoo! Mail on Android

Subscribe to POETICALLY SPOKEN by Email He was a good man, So I am told; Light to his age, Humble and bold A gasket of glass Embroil in gold – He had a good life, Though not old Even in death he gives Hands to hold, Hands perchance kind Though cannot fold A requiem melodious, Sad and cold: Sing! Incorrigible consciences All but sold! A good man goes home, So they proclaim But it’s funeral for the dead And vanity fair for the vain. © Jude Ifeme