Bow for the applause
Every day another victim is killed,
and every day some innocent blood spills.
And with the victim's blood on your mind,
one day you’ll be left behind.
One fine day you’ll fall on the ground,
with some of your victims standing around.
what a day
that will be.
On that day you’ll be unmasked,
and your identity will be revealed to all at last.
and so it will be,
your faith will be sealed.
what a day
what a time.
Fight on my victim friend,
one day the battle will end.
Your campaign is for a worthy cause,
you’ll bow for the applause.
oh, what a day
a happy day that will be.
My life was torn apart
Hidden around every corner,
At places, you wouldn’t guess,
It came with an intention and it won’t rest.
It shatters our friendships,
Disjoint the best relationship,
And cut our happy days to nil.
Friends are viewed with suspicion,
The family are foe,
Ever present at our parties,
A watchman everywhere we go.
I meet it with resentment,
Can’t detect it on the wall
The deterrent is like a call
Even when in pain I fall
Doctors are never enough,
Because they are dying too,
A high hope for this generation,
I know we will make it through.
The Furnace is my home
A young leaf swaying in the sun, unburnt, surviving, embracing the scorching sun yet alive. Striving in the blistering heat to carry on to the next generation, the story of its life.
Maturing through sunburn, sustenance from the sun itself, penetrating roots, seeking life from the soil, bare and barren, the tender plant never wavers in its effort to survive.
Finding just that hope, hanging unto just that pinch of soil, searching and finding food and surviving where others see doom and death, never feeling the urge to complain and give up, even as the sun rays give light and debt, giving thanks for that slight gush of cool air yet battening down when the intense furnace show no mercy.
Surviving where molten rock runs like a stream, scraping the lifeblood out of fertile soil, destroying the hope of many generations, the lucky can only gaze from afar and lament.
The god of fire and fear quench its thirst.
But alas the rocks, bare, scraped, and lifeless will cradle the manure only enough to nurture the soft, tender sprout that shoots with new life, new hope, and the will to survive even in a condition too harsh for a scorpion to survive.
These tears were shed for you
My heart gladdens at your appearance
Even the whisper of your name
Set my soul alive,
Like a thirsty plant scenting water.
Tell me from whence you came and what your mission is.
To set ablaze this fragile heart of mine
So long forgot the sparkle of love
And the tingling feeling it entails
With a broken arrow in hand
She often shoots but fails to score
A poor masterly of the art she loves
A lover who lives on memory.
A childhood hope
Destroy with age
The erosion comes with time
To brighten any hope
Is divine
I must now go home and
Weep.
Wailing Heart
Wailing willow wail for me
A lover in distress.
Patience priorities plain pleasant
A lover on the move.
Ailing, aim, aimless alimony
Expression of love abounds.
Joyful, job, judo, jubilee
A joyful crowd around
Create creature cruel caricature
Destroying my every move.
Solace, solid, sobriety, sober
Every whisper spoke record,
Quick, quake, quiet, and quiet
Stilt movement undisturbed.
Singing slowly silent soul
Rest today until tomorrow.
Nice night neatly nested
The sun will rise to shine again.
Dennis Williams is a poet/writer from Sandy Hill, St. Catherine, Jamaica. He is blessed and humbled to have his writings published in the Agape Review, the American Diversity Report (ADR), Alchemy Spoon issue #7, the Health Line Zine #1, the independent literary magazine, Adelaide #54, EgoPHobia # 74, livina Press issue# 3, Blue Pepper Magazine, entropy2, five fleas itchy poetry magazine, Blue unicorn, Dry River issue 2, and Roots and resettlement Vol.3, Taj Mahal Vol.24#2, Wave of words Lit.
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