.
Let the red blood
Flow from my temples.
Let the grey angst
Flow from my torments.
Let the plow
Dig up my grave,
If I'd never gave up.
.
Time has passed,
Aeons has been rested.
I keep on living but
I have taken my last breathe,
Waiting for futility.
.
Ahold my chest
It has shed a river.
.
Heart in forsaken slice,
Received a knife of betrayal in my back,
I feel the blood ooze from my open wounds.
.
So do I keep on the template,
For soul missing contemplates.
.
Discretion knows nothing of the pain,
When love dies the memory remains.
.
© K-net
# ghosts_of_reflection
November 21, 2016 at 11:19 PM ·

,
My unborn son
Pronounced me a bastard
On the plight
Of undoing my fathers
,
He has waited
To see the light
If only I cared for ancestry
In a season of cursed bloods
And scavenging thinkers
,
My unborn son
Thought of sending me
A gift from nature
But I have been ransacked
Out of sterility
By a strange deity
,
He has tried
All in vain
To make me see
That life is worth having
A duplicate
Still, my mind is set
On been a limited edition
,
My unborn son
Behold the painful
Realization
His father upholds
In an accursed land
,
Hoping to stay unborn
This will be his fate
For only the undead
Will wish the unborn
The curses of their deeds
,
© k~net™
25/2/2017
00:30
Maiduguri, Nigeria

Speak in the language
Of stakes, stabs
And slaying
'
Witness the talk
Of fatal bullets
And streaming bloods,
Atop the hills
Some place in the east
,
Well spoken
Is the dialogue,
But we die

© k~net™
#ghosts_of_reflection
Maiduguri, Nigeria
28/12/2016
00:30

A ballad. A story well told in condensed language.
You(we) wash your guilt in the waters called "It is business"...
This is the line that nails the words on a marble.

Kiddogarcia:
In the face extinction I thought we've found love,

But a bag of garri is now sold at thirteen thousand.

mama John rejoiced at her new luck.

Because she knows the profit is surreal.



The cab driver curses coronavirus,

He tags it as the Cause of his worries,

But greatly he's inflated his delivery price,

Through greediness he thought he would survive.



We all clamouring stay at home,by word you've turned to your brother's keeper
,
But you know your next door neighbour is dying of hunger,

Because of the rift you once had,you've refused to save humanity,

, And in the confines of your creed,you laughed at his jittery.




tomorrow you'll join us to pray against this hardship,

But I know your conscience won't torture you,

you'll blame the government for not doing the right thing,

but we'll survive you also,because you are worser than corona.

A reflective poem, considering the present situation. You can also learn to be consistent with how each line of the poem starts, upper or lower case. The word "worser", well I believed that's a poetic freedom.

Dazed, fazed and besieged with arrows
Wounded with invisible scars
Which pierce deep into the marrow
In haziness and eyes like stars
Clothed in garment of familiar pity
Waiting for the time
When the pain and sonority
All in the clime
To a palace in the ground
Hammered through a wooden skin
Like lifeless rivers abound
Close to the departed kins
So when he leaves this drenched castle of air
For the comfort of mother earth
Bury him inside a box of thorns.

Vexed, those blood harassing his veins.
Unsexed, those accursed essence of his life.


A death sentence with no crime,
A blood-gore with no scarification,
Decadence smeared in freshness.
Pain plagued, retched in harmless flowing poison
Cursed for eternity.

For he is a walking corpse
Certified dead on August in the year 2009
But patrolling the earth like a vampire,
Tormenting none but wastes of himself.
The world shared not his grief.

Wedged, in wasted womb-ways of woes.
Sledged, in slime slug slewed of sorrows.

A skyline of lips smeared in darkness,
A fence of cheek begging to dry.
A frame mocking robustness of a man.
Raised dust from desecrated dust,
Filth air from wilted air.

Dust to dust...
Ashes to ashes...
On his bier, through life and after life
Press upon slaughtering laughter,
His offence; "he stayed alive".

� K~net�
# ghosts_of_reflection
August, 2014[

Hey Nairalanders, this is a poem I composed 4 years back and lately, I have felt the need to go back and start sharing some of my writings not just poems. I was once labeled a dark poet/writer but I believe I am simply a reflective composer.
I still feel that my works should be critique where need be. Thanks.

My words are useless to me
They can't express the fire of insight
burning in me
They can't redeem the desire calling out from
my soul
They can't show the cracked alter egos baying to
stay


My words are useless to me
They can't show the delicious noise
cracking my bones
They can't explain the pure insanity kept in
check
They can't determine the nostalgia unspent as
kid


I wish to tell Mum I love her
Till the World is to come again
I wish to have one more chance to say
aurevoir to Dad
I wish to tell the editors
Why I abandoned them for poets
I wish to tell my unborn seeds my undid deeds


But my words are still useless to me


My words are like slopes guiding me in my sloop
My words are like robes wearing me out in rogue

But my words are useless to me


They can't take me back in time
They can't teleport me to the future
They can't secure me now


My words will still remain useless
Until they can go beyond my feeling
and into my thought
Unchaining me from the very thing
That made me a Prisoner...My Words!


© Kenneth(knet)
# ghosts_of_reflection
MAY 21, 2016 ·

Intermilanfan:
either corona-virus has affected the literature section or i'm just posting this story to myself. Make una come out na.

Its a mystery, some may be following mysteriously.