Poetry

"Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad!
Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!
Oh, God! it is unutterable!
I cannot live without my life!
I cannot live without my soul!"
— Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights 🥀
Sometimes a piece of fiction captures the absolute, terrifying truth of what it feels like to lose a part of your own soul. Classic literature just hits different when you've lived enough life to actually understand the depth of it.

Oil Lantern storied poem.

I am here, beneath the line where many fall.
The line where purgatory meets the abyss you forestall.
A place where it is almost pitch black,
Just you, silence, and naked to all.
Shuffling your feet slowly before going down to crawl,
In fear of every step being the last.
The thoughts run past beyond control,
Of mindless regrets.
The silence offers no distraction,
So the nightmares are vividly kept.

Tears run, but the drops that touch the floor make no noise.
The sound of breathing becomes unnoticeable...
The mind playing sounds as decoys.
Insanity starts to arise...
the panic drowns your very lungs..

Across the way, a small flicker of light can be seen
A light coated in amber.
A man walking with a lantern,
Walking closer and closer.

He hands you a tattered garment,
Placing the lantern by your feet.
The ground is barren grey,
The light flickering from his jet-black eyes,
Giving an almost human sight.

"...Who are you?..." I ask.

"I am also a fallen... and I have watched many crumble in blight.
I have become accustomed to the dark...
And so I am here as your guide.

Here, wear this cloak,
It will help you, you'll soon see.
Oh, how wretched this place be...

Those that Long dream to fix broken dreams,
Piecing them together to complete,
Thinking this will set you free,
But far from freedom, form by those that go alone,
here is your final retreat.
Your slumber until you have reached
The mindset you're destined to be.

But destiny is inclined to a slope, in favor of the abyss.
So tread with focus, grip, and strife.
Upwards is your only way,
For true destiny is given to those who fight.

There is nothing here...

The lantern you see is fashioned by bones of the rib cage.
The fuel is my blood, fermented into oil.
The wick made by the surface strips off my heart.
Should this be the life you toil.

The cloak you wear is my skin, peeled and stitched together...
Can you go as far as me...
In my hospitality?

Creatures here will ravish your fresh body,
Be entertained by the virgin shivers in your eyes.
Only when you're used to this miserable life..
Do they leave you behind.

Many years may have passed...
how long I have been here...
With no guide to come for me...
The cries have all dried and cracked my eyes..
And thus alas... I shall be.

One must at least guide
The undeserved wanderers that gather,
And take them back to where life had firm footing before it shattered.

So for them to have another chance to rebuild the path that broke...
To return to the lovers that be.
An end reunion unknown to me.

I have far become an expert of the abyss,
To walk among them now..
I would be utterly remissed.
Any she, could never bare the weight of what I've had to become..
The Hope, hurts too much.

But at least here, should I save you, perhaps you might thank me,
And with your memory of me..

Il become a somebody..."

Drifting Wolf 🐺

Keep walking,
your way is written
Before you,
came to the world.
Keep walking, my friend

Yes! I work hard, I make money, I’m a responsible adult, I have a very beautiful body, I take care of myself pretty good. But I do not want to be loved for any of that.
I want to be loved regardless of it all. 💃🏾💃🏾💃🏾

You can only try your best and you can only be yourself.

So if it doesn’t happen, don’t worry about it.

Either you find him, or he finds you
You know it but can't say it, I ask and then no reply
Stop blowing in the wind, you passed me by
You take the step, check and shoot up
Don't close your eyes when you drive
Watch for the turns and still use the hooter

Mind you, the answer is in yourself
All we do is nothing but help ourselve's.
What you want is not for me to complain
We on our own, and alone bear the pain.

Working Draft Poem

I always wanted to join the Army.
To feel a sense of belonging.
I knew discipline would make me.
Where too much freedom had broke me,
And the many of us today.

When they would say.
Look to the man on the left and to the man to your right,
They are your brothers.
Protect them at all cost,
don't worry about protecting the world but those next to you.
And in that chain the whole world will be at peace.
Watching old world war movies with soldiers clutching onto a photo of their loved one.

It was a heroic love.. I wanted to be heroic.

But the stress of failing in keeping the secret of being part of the cadet.
I left.

The thoughts that one day I would be forced to fly overseas and fight enemies that were part of my faith.
My family would look at me in disgust,
but today.. I've come to regret.

I was seventeen at the time.
My body was still mushy and soft.
Ready to be forged by any practitioner of discipline.

Took myself to several Dojos,
But the one key difference was.
The door was always unlocked,
Whenever the furnace got too hot,
I could always leave.

And with it the mold was never complete.

To harden the heart it must first get passed the stage of the body, and then the mind.
But I couldn't take it..
Because I could always look at that exit door.
Coward was I..

I could not forsee it, noone taught me that An unfinished clay is easily breakable.
Would have been far better off just to stay soft.

I took these half baked lessons.
From the Army, the Dojos.
And with the free time supplemented from comic books, Mangas, anime, films and Islam.

And I forged it all with this melting pot of things.

I grew strong.. very strong.

Many friends by me,
Left, right, front and back.
And a gf as the pseudo other half.

I had confidence which gave me strength, my mind was sharp because it bounced off other minds,
My heart was full because my half kept it so.

And with it came the birth of my arrogance.
The lost thoughts that everything I have built,
was all just me.

The devil hid the fact that I was always made a half.
He told us to do everything alone, the strong is alone, the weak run in packs.

And I didn't want to be a coward, I wanted to prove to this unknown collection of whispers.
That I am strong,
I wanted to feel belonging again.

And so I listened..
I grew distant with all things people.

Desperate to be able to say "I did it all myself"
Even without the mention of god.

And that was the devil's plot all along..

Where else have we been taught this?
In the congregation of prayer.
Shoulder to shoulder to the next.
Brothers by our sides keeps us strong.

That we are made in pairs, and for tranquility
we must join in matrimony.

We are created weak by design..
We are only just a Half..

And here we are, speaking as if we are kings and queens.
Titles placed on us without contest.
Because it makes us feel good.

But in the long run..
It is our undoing.

Drifting Wolf.

"Whatever our souls are made of,
his and mine are the same."🫣

— Emily Bronte

Happiness❤️❤️

A little piece of heaven, so simple, so true.

Happiness, is the delightful feeling of the Sun kissing your skin, like a mother’s warm embrace.

A gentle whisper of love upon your face, a tender moment where time slows its pace.

It dances in the breeze, so soft and free.

It lives in the laughter, the stillness, the light, In the warmth of the day and the stars of the night.😊

I knew the season had an ending.
You never promised me the spring.
Still, I left the window open
for the little warmth it brought,
though even then I felt the draught
of all that wouldn't stay.

No storm had fooled the branches.
No sky had sworn to hold its blue.
We watched the clouds gather
and called the afternoon beautiful.

Tell me, when the rain is coming,
must we close the window
while the light is still good?

I thought I could borrow warmth
without making room for winter.
I thought a passing thing
could pass through me
without leaving its weather behind.

But somewhere between
knowing and wanting,
the room began to change.

So I closed the window.
Not because the warmth was false,
nor because the sky had lied,
but because I could no longer
mistake the cold I let in
for something I could live in.