Hours Into Days

Hello, how are you? What is your name?

Nice to meet you, such a pretty face

I’ll give you all of me for the same in return

Your love is all I have been yearning for

I gave you everything but never enough

Not enough for you not to crush

My emotions, all of my dreams

And now I’m standing in a room with echoing screams

Because minutes turn to hours and hours into days,

Days turn into years, I don’t want to be afraid

There’s a hole up in my heart where you promised you would stay

But minutes turn to hours and hours into days.

You say you’ll be there but you never show

Where you were that day, I guess I’ll never know

I gave you an eternity but with a twist

I wanted you to return my given bliss

I’m left standing in the pouring rain

So cliché, I wish I could just run away

But my heart it pours continuous love

And I can’t help myself from crying

Minutes turn to hours and hours into days,

Days turn into years, I don’t want to be afraid

There’s a hole up in my heart where you promised you would stay

But minutes turn to hours and hours into days.

An eternity is how long I’ll wait

There will always be a place for you

No matter what you did you

No matter how much you put me through

I will wait the minutes and the days

I will be here when you finally return

I will hold you and I’ll never let go

Because I love, I will always love you

Minutes turn to hours and hours into days,

Days turn into years, I don’t want to be afraid

There’s a hole up in my heart where you promised you would stay

But minutes turn to hours and hours into days.

Decline

What was once, to her, important

Slowly slipped away

Too tired from fighting so hard

She watched as it flew

Empty from arguments long ago fought

Wingless, yet desperate to fly

He stole the one thing that she loved

He turned it to a chore

Soon she had none to rely upon

Nothing left to hold

She had been stripped down to the bone

Of what once had been pure gold

"When the time is right, my darling,"

                    “When the time is right, my darling,” they say to me.
Well, why can’t the time be now?
Why can’t I make it be now?
Am I not under my own influences?
Do I not own the right to be myself, to make choices for myself?

“When the time is right, my darling,” they say to me,

But the time won’t be right until I say it is.
My destiny cannot be accounted to the stars.
Seize the moment, be free!
How can I when the time is not right though?

“When the time is right, my darling,” they say to me.

To them I say, with defiance

“The time is when I make it; therefore the time is now,”

And I turn my back on those who stop

                                         And I shut the door.

Love, Lust or Simply Fun?

Turn your face away from me because for you it’s hard to see

That I want you to look at me more than just a hook

Up your eyes go to the sky when you tell me that you’re shy
I don’t believe you, that’s a lie, you’re a fun loving guy

Mistakes were made the very first day; I didn’t know what to say
You initiated yet you say I started, you became to me big hearted
In a short time you made me feel real, I cannot explain how I feel
But when you leave me all alone, sadness is put on the hone

Please do not pretend to be just a person who sees me
As no more than a friend because then this surely shall end
I’m not saying that I want a ring, I don’t really want anything
Except for you not to play me like you see me as your baby

It doesn’t mean that I want much, simply more than just a touch

Of your affection, I deserve your protection
Do not break me like a doll; do not leave me as just a shell
I want more than just, perhaps this is simply lust

 

No, if I am being real, this is how I want to feel

Viscera has taken control, but will this soon take its toll?

Love, lust or simply fun, I’m not ready to decide this one

But for now I’m truly happy, will you take this journey with me?

Lips The Colour Of A Rose (Repost)

A lot of people have been asking me to post pictures onto my blog. Now, since my blog is dedicated solely to my writing, I have been pondering and debating with myself how I would manage to post a relevant picture. About a year ago, I drew a picture based on one of my poems, Lips The Colour Of A Rose and so I have decided to share it with my readers. I hope you like it.

Sometimes it’s the quieter people in life who really make the difference.

This was an essay that I wrote for class. Names have been changed to protect the identities of the concerned people involved in this story. I hope you enjoy it.

Sometimes it’s the quieter people in life who really make the difference.

“Zimbabwe’s Mugabe threatens foreign-owned companies”

“One Syrian family lost 21 in suspected chemical attack”

“Have crimes against humanity been committed in Egypt?”

In a world full of chaos and turmoil, sometimes all I want to do is get away from the noise that is Egypt crumbling and Syria’s civil wars, South African corruption and Zimbabwe’s mysterious election results.

June 11, 2012: I feel the warmth of the mohair against my neck as I zip up my winter coat. Today is the start of the day camp that I will be counselling – a camp for special needs children who desire extra TLC. I am nervous that, perhaps, something may go wrong. What if the child to whom I am assigned does not like me? I fear that my inexperience will render me unfit to handle the needs of this child. These are the fears that inhibit my fragile confidence.

Whilst I am in the car, my mother is talking. The weather – an extra cold front in the already cold months of winter – is her topic of choice. I look out of the window; the overcast day seems a little more heavy than usual. Trees, people walking their dogs and other cars flash past. At the Gauteng speed limit, the world is oblivious to me and my emotions just as I am oblivious to theirs. My mother stops at a red light.

“A bit of money? Some food please,”

I look directly into the face of the beggar. I shake my head apologetically as my mother puts the car into gear and pulls off. The quiet beggar is left behind.

I arrive at the camp and am soon introduced to the child of whom I will be taking care. Immediately I recognise that this is a child who has fears, needs and dreams, not just a special needs case. Together with Michelle, a friend of mine, I will be looking after Adam. With his large, dreamy eyes and clumsy tongue, this boy of five has the clear symptoms of a rare form of Autism. This diagnosis affects his relationships with people, resulting in Adam being a very shy and quiet boy. This condition also affects his ability to function and enjoy the small things that other children his age may enjoy.

For four days we help the children view the world in which they live in a different, happier light. We go ice-skating, to the arcades and to the zoo. On the fourth and final day, while making flowers out of paper, I feel a little hand on my lap. I look up and immediately my heart feels as if it will burst with pride. In the hands of this child is a paper flower, presented to me from him. The joy and protection that I feel for this young child are tangible: I feel myself tear up. I quickly blink the moisture away to avoid frightening the child.

On the way back home, I see the beggar again. We once again stop at the red light and he once again begs for food or money. I am torn because I have nothing to give him and yet if someone like Adam can make me something out of nothing more than paper, then I can give this man something of myself.

I twirl the paper flower around in my fingers. I sense that I have been blind to the opportunities that have been presented to me: I have been given a chance to spend my light my making someone else smile.

I roll the window down and hand the beggar the bright paper flower.

 “I’m sorry sir, but it’s all I have,”

His eyes shine like bouncing marbles. I never knew that a person’s face could literally shine, yet I see genuine joy radiating from his dirty face. His expression shows that he sincerely appreciates this gesture.

The quietest boy, supposedly hindered by his disability, in his simple innocence, has taught me something that I am still reminded of, little more than a year later. The little boy named Adam with Autism had made me realise that sometimes it is the quieter people in life who really make the difference.

Contrition

Small tears, lots of fears, when will all of this pain seize?
How do I disguise the lies for something I don't feel?
Can I make it another day, will I survive the unreal?
Please will somebody help me see the good in the diseased.

 All on my own, I am so selfish; I am engulfed in my own misfortune

Never intact with what you are enduring, never caring, never feeling
Focusing on my tribulations, missing out on what life is giving
That is the path on which I am always living

I beg for forgiveness, all I feel is regret, my heart, mind and soul are set

I will not rest till I have redemption for my transgressions

This is my request for acceptance and vindication

Please accept my plea for salvation