Addressed to such …

In sempiternal shades of perfect perfection,
Lay a form with serene affection,
My vitality waned in fickle reflection,
Of the moment I beheld such satiation.

Woman of unfathomable beauty,
Silken skin and so fine a form,
A Heshbon of eyes, a beautiful norm,
A lock of gold off the shapely deity.

I would cringe to walk by
Without saying such,
Yet would I kneel and kiss
Your gentle hand?

In the purple blossoms you sail free
Ridding the drear off the vast champaign
I find myself pretzel bended_
While like clay, moulded me into forms unseen

In simple misery,
I regress to digress,
Of how I may regret,
If I pass without a say!

Nay you shall not wreath
A flowery bend for two,
For so I know it too
We can only stare_ ’tis true.

Your deliciously spelled mien
Encase me in deliberate awe,
Capsulated time; frozen true_
Seized me in throes of respect and envy.

Yet I muse aware – odes can only be expressed,
Even when much isn’t to be gained,
For the pain a dither soul endures from words unsaid
Is bitter and unfathomable in this fickle life!

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Excerpt from “Death in the hood” (#PoemsbyCephas)

Grief stricken I am,
tears won’t bring relief
I mourn a society whose exorcism lies in limbo.

The confused cooing of ailing pigeons,
stand as eulogies somewhere in the skies.
Obituaries are being read to the reticent heavens_
God give us another, He was worthy guy,
With a name writ in water
Ubuntu has died!

Raising Cain

Little shouldn’t play with dead things I heard.
Yet that warning I did not heed as I put flowers at the isolated grave
no one seemed to wanna tend to.
Chunks of lonely hell a corner prepared for an ostracized soul spat from it.
Raising Cain didn’t take wielding the horsemen’s siegel
or muttering sacred words in an extinct Middle age language,
but the naivete of a child to touch the untouchable
For the road of hell is constructed with good intentions.
From the earth he rose a more aspirated Jeffrey Dahmer
wielding not a knife but a ram’s jaw bone.
Seeking to take revenge of sins not  yet committed.
Oh the atrocities that came with Raising Cain.

They all lay before him, roads to a freer self.
He elected the rugged one on his way from the wake,
filled with shards of terrible history
When death had every name on it,save for his own,
A mohawked moron with unhinged morals,
snake that wanders as if human,
Then he sets out_ Raising Cain.

Marching hard on blood-red gravel,
Donning a contemptuous face and sought vengeance for a fallen mum,
Whose licentious boyfriend knowingly plagued with HIV.
Gone berserker than a starved council worker
He’s ratchet,stripped straight jackets now he is raising Cain.

Burdened with grief and ghastly tools,
He threatens reprise and utter catastrophe.
I watch and feel for the estranged lover,
But the comparison is false to one who lost a mother,
But does this justify why he raised Cain?

cFAS, Mith

River of angst

Life is hard, that I swear.
Stuck on the banks, perpetually snaking,
In wild commotion went the flow,
As if afraid of the blow,
Shrieking above as if laden with witches.
Phantoms from my past are now catching up,
Ugly like a corpse that’s rotting slowly.
I took a stroll, caught on a straw_
don’t swallow me now river of angst.

Wash my woe, undrape my pain.
Cloaked by night I desire to retire
and follow the flow till I get to him.
Who’s become a lilac silhouette
against darkening skies.
In a night with no stars he left me behind.

River of angst
Undress my thirst
Let it as bones bare itself the tender
flesh of my tender gash,
Lash out in a wrath heaven never fathomed
and a fury hell hath not brewed yet.
From the bitter bile that has substituted
the mellow sweet nectar of my soul.

I know not of the erring of humanity,
nor the penance offered by the divine.
My blood cries, screams, yearns for sweet retribution.
Following you river of angst into the abyss,
were sacrifices are made.
I sacrifice our memories for my sanity,
that can only be bought when I am appeased.

From you I drinketh,
Fill my chalice with divine providence,
Tame my shame and cleave my fate
I grope in the shroud of solace.
Feet chilled by what lies beneath
Still I search for the swallow’s nest,
inaccessibly perched on the unimaginable.
The evitability of his return seem so rusty,
Yet I revel in the illusion of victory.

Ignite my path with thy serene glow
and forge my legend, aloof I stand.
Venal maids can’t pervert the heart of he who I cherish,
He left in a rush; I blush to say there is someone he forgot.
With unfathomable melancholy,
I lament the loss of his touch.
A chill as cold as the trail he abandoned back to my heart.
Like the foolish horse who abandoned his cart,
My lover wasn’t so smart, the warmest part I saved him,
He ruthlessly punctured with a dart.

Mith, cFAS