poetry

It can happen to me?

I just don’t think anybody could be this wrong and still think it’s so right. Surely there has to be something there that can be real? Surely if I hold on it will eventually reveal?

But wow, it’s actually me whom the tables have turned against. I guess you can only make Art out of it for so long until it overpowers your Heart, until you have to play the part, giving up a life of reason to follow your gut.

But how? Did we swear to our promises too soon? Is it God or karma, or whatever it is out there that’s such a sucker for drama. That made me a dreamer, got me on the roller-coaster of life and damn I’m a screamer, I’m having a good time, scared, hopeful and pushing adrenaline so that when I die and they ask me what I took from life, I’ll show them more than a handful.

But I’m going out to see the sun, hopefully fear will see me coming and run. I hate always being reminded that this thing called life ain’t fun, as if I haven’t already been burned by that flame. It’s such a shame, so much beauty and mystery left untouched, it’s actually so beautiful that such a life is as pure as the morning dew giving life to the ignored blades of the grass and all her dependents… Could it be that I too am as precious as the morning dew? Only to be enjoyed by the willing few? Of course it would be better if the world knew, but the world is often blinded to anything true.

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art, poetry

Make some time to Mourn.

Controversy follows me like Fall after Summer. My tongue runs out of Truth and all I’m left with are yesterday’s Lies looking for back up in today’s battles.

When we were younger it was nothing but protocol to drink some fake alcohol, pretending to be drunk as we wobbled our way onto the floor with jeers and laughs, it was all in good cheer.

Now it’s protocol, pretending to laugh while we wobble towards the alcohol in the cabinet, or maybe the refrigerator, or possibly my desk where I had a few sips for inspiration when last night I had the urge to call up some friends and forget about the missus, thinking, one last time and I swear I won’t miss this.

Oh now Thomas has got a new mistress and we’re gonna have to keep the secret from Betty, what a pity – but remember that one time she was being super petty, wouldn’t let us use the computer as if her last name was Qwerty.

Well what goes around comes around, I hope I can convince myself that I made the right choice when considering everything that I could lose, your love was never an option. I mean your love was ever on auction, I simply tried to take action, almost followed my passion but they told me I’d lose my pension… Oh what a lesson, I hope my children will pay attention when I warn them that before daylight there is dawn, which comes after the darkness of the night when each of us has to make some time just to mourn all the dreams that we didn’t close our eyes to see, all the lips we didn’t move in to kiss and all the ignorance that made life so bliss.

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African, apartheid, south africa, truth

Sounds of Africa

Boom Boom! That’s the sound of the African drum!

Mama and the ladies dance around the fire.

Boom Boom! That’s the sound of the mine!

Daddy and the Men shall go and dig for Diamonds.

Boom Boom! That’s the sound of a bomb!

Brother and the gents decided to exterminate the embassy.

Boom Boom! That’s the sound of the Baas.

If I don’t carry my pass I’ll be good as dead!

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blogging, inspiration, life choices, money, poetry, reason, secrets

Stop Writing.

I need to stop writing because I might just be good at it. Okay maybe that’s too extreme, maybe I can just stop publishing my blog posts – they might be better off as drafts.

Yes maybe drafts are better, I can pile up all my thoughts and they will never be seen and I would never revisit them just in case I get tempted to post them and let the whole world see.

I’m surely no Shakespeare, my English is far too simple – but oh how convenient, people cannot handle complicated, they don’t even understand my previous post.

Oh snap I need to stop writing. I might just be good at it and I’ll get what I wish for; write some books and get rich and famous – then my biggest fears will come true and I’ll end up like my beloved Avicii.

Many times I never stopped to think what the consequences of success could be. Everyone who’s holding my secrets might just come and spill the beans just to get their name on the community mop and wipe away all my innocence and privacy – I don’t want to be rich and famous.

So maybe I should stop writing or maybe I can just stop making sense, I can never try being boring so I’ll start now with the mathematics that birds don’t dwell on and neither did I when I passed through the tunnel and became man and then boy and then faded into thinking – yes surely I’ve lost them and they’ll never read me again…I can continue writing never to be famous today.

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