Showing pages tagged "Life story"

Dark Side

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Dark Side

Days when frustration

Griped my neck

Strangling it with estacy

Radiating on it face

And tribulations

Never ceases to seize

Six part of my lives

Leaving with just one to take

With that one

I lost my dignity as an African boy

But thought like the hell boy's

Flashes through my mind

I could see the rope

Dangling in my darkness illuminated heart

And every river I pass by

Seems to sing me songs of welcome

Each time I cut a piece with a knife

I could see the knife winking,

Longing to take a stroll

Through my heart

Yes, I was built a castle

In the village of depression

And friends online never helped

But to put my life on line with hails of boss

I was at the cross road of death and life

But death seems to love me more than life

So I was tempted to fall for him

And follow him

I was up on my feet

My hands stretched out for death to take

Suddenly my pen cried

Ink poured down it face profusely

So I took a seat

And wrote a poem for death

I told him I was in love with him

I wrote him a letter and called it Ode to death

Then he left me

For I was one of the few who loved him

So how would he kill his lover

When haters speaks with megaphones in his ears

I went with life

And here I am

Writing my dark story

Away from my dark side

® Sam Petros

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When I Die

by ,

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When I die,

Do not sing me a dirge

But eulogy.

Do not wail your soul out,

Nor scream with tears strolling

Down your face highway.

When I die,

When death make me his beloved,

And my body lies with earth,

Do not play the Teriki drum,

Or sound the gong in sorrow,

Neither should you dress your body and soul

In black,

But be glad, that my body is gone

For my soul to come.

Don't you know the body caged the soul for so long?

How good is it to be free?

Merry for I am not buried,

But planted to germinate life

For the ones to come.

To breathe life into them, who is to hold the pen.

Do not cry for you see me lowered in the grave,

But be glad for my soul will return.

Have you see a bucket go down the well

And come back empty?

When I die.

Be glad for I am not dead,

I only obliged to death's wish

That we become friends.

I am only laid to rest,

To not wander on the surface again,

But to be a land-lord underneath.

For the rest to write and rise with age.

©Sam Petros