Showing pages tagged "Life story"
Dark Side
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 sampetros,
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