Why make of beauty what it is not
or make falsehood the fact it is not?
Why call a name where it isn’t loved
or hate for reasons another is loved?
Why share in the logic for blind faith
then deny love it’s heartbeat or breath?
Why refuse to be forced to behave
but relish in the spoils cruelty gave?
Why make the most common sense,
rot away until it becomes nonsense?
Love is patient and love is kind;
doesn’t envy, it’s one of a kind.
It doesn’t boast, it isn’t proud.
Love does not dishonor others;
it isn’t self-seeking or ever loud.
It isn’t easily angered by others.
Love keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in any evil,
but rejoices with truthful tongues.
It always ever protects and is civil.
It always trusts and always hopes;
always perseveres, anyhow it goes.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8NIV
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God bless you abundantly.
We know where the future is,
it’s in front somewhere coming.
It is impossible for any to miss,
except those dead, lost or missing.
Like time, future moves in form,
and awaits all that come its way.
Since time doesn’t have one form,
so future too makes in its own way.
When we arrive at an old age,
time is quick and we are slow.
Everyone else only see a sage
though we only still just know.
Arriving at a renewed bondage
when all tell us what we know.
Thinking becomes so plentiful,
time is there but quite useless.
We are burdened to be useful,
yet challenged to be needless.
When life is richer and needful,
it gives notice that it is pointless.
The Cockerel that thinks
the sun rises to its crows,
knows not a pig sty stinks
and it’s for a meal it grows.
The moment you follow,
you are surely being led.
You are like your shadow
very much like the dead.
Whole world is actually round;
that isn’t debatable anymore.
The round world goes around,
and comes around some more.
This simple truth is influential;
so much that it is the sole rule,
that is most definitely crucial
in the manner world runs true.
Wealth as Splendor in the tale
is named Humpty as Dumbty.
Felt Dumb and Haughty it fell
and pieces became its mighty.
All it has ever owned is Spent,
as all the King’s men would tell.
Majesty of many castles’ wealth,
drank to weeds in ruined health.
Everyday is sweet momentarily,
living is such true fun and more.
All tastes change and inevitably,
every natural sweet turns sour.
To make something,
is to truly discover it.
To discover anything,
is truly uncovering it.
Things we think made,
were simply uncovered.
Someone lit the shade
and sights discovered.
Every moment is spent not used,
as opportunities taken or refused.
The passage of time is an escape.
Every lifestyle ever takes a shape.
Daily strifes and expectations,
wake people up every morning.
Then returning to same situations,
people live for joy and its mourning.
Most times we feel things,
and sense them well ahead.
Many times see these things
but don’t avoid them instead.
The signs will be there for all,
like we stumble before we fall.
Doubt stammered before it spoke,
like there’s fire where there’s smoke.
Holding onto you
and all time stops.
Very smell of you
fills my many cups.
Sweetness all about
sorrounds the still air.
Breathing in and out,
makes leaving to fear.
I am full but not fed.
I’m held in my breath,
that hasn’t yet paused.
You’re my living wealth.
All is never ever as it is or well,
even in Satan’s strictest of hell.
There is always the weird sort,
who make of goodness a sport.
Gratitude is the right attitude;
it always gives some latitude,
that will lift the down trodden,
make out fertilizer of its rotten.
World is the baggage that matter,
life is the manner we carry it on.
Time is the passage and ladder,
age is it’s numbered mile stone.
World is a mission we’re tasked.
Living is the tour we are allowed.
Time is our tenures unmasked.
Age likens a sentence awarded.
Every day passes into another,
in the same likeness and order.
Morning blends into bright days,
evening dims out in similar ways.
Renewed days busting bubbles,
moving airy shades in mingles.
No difference in multiple colors,
only mystery behind their doors.
Past is never where we leave it,
it goes with us anywhere we go.
Past is the invincible scarred bit
that heals, remain and still show.
Like a past, everyone has a scar
that help make ’em who they’re.
Experience is in the difference,
for stereotypes aren’t evidence.
Those who habitually generalize
would end up telling general lies.
What’s man, what’s he about;
some mystery for figuring out,
or another thing that will rot?
Same man’s masterful reign,
growing in loudly seen fame,
repeatedly bursts in old pain.
At the end every single man
makes his wishes as he can,
not walk a fixed single plan.
There are thin lines between
knowing what,why and when.
When would set up the win,
after What has been chosen.
Why doesn’t come as often.
Choices come fast and quick;
settings we don’t make or pick,
Daily life or death situations,
all demand instant decisions.
Fly dear little bird
and make the nest.
Set your fluffy bed,
for today and next.
Tomorrow ever late
will give it’s reasons.
Find yourself a mate
to breed in seasons.
When the mind’s worried
and the heart’s disturbed
sky turn mainly blue daily;
like oceans also too wavy.
Sun’s glow appears burnt,
moon makes a sad afront.
Lonely life looks abandoned,
its sojourn feeling condoned.
Sad and unhappiness is cold,
all things turn blue the world.
After all what is there in life;
only sleep, wake, sleep again?
What’s there in the living hype,
but bits of joy in a pond of pain.
What’s it to keep and defend,
just come and go as we came?
What’s to have when it all end,
when dust and ash will remain?
Death must be so beautiful,
it’s the dying that’s frightful.
To lie in the soft brown earth
like a twig that hasn’t a faith.
Nothing more to say or prove
and the grasses waving above.
One’s head listens to silence,
in unending endless patience.
No yesterdays, nor tomorrow.
Gone is all life and it’s sorrow.
Forgotten life, forgiven time.
To be at peace, in darken fine.
Home is where I am;
it isn’t anywhere else.
Home says who I am
and my current place.
Home always has me;
all of me, as I present.
Home ever keeps me;
in all my most recent.
Home has become me,
and keeps mine safest.
My home’s here to see;
most real in its truest
We’ve all the time in the world,
until we finally leave the world.
There is nothing more we own,
Than the time that is our own.
All the time we have is limited,
as our use of it is complicated.
When we live out time in ease,
we live and age as we please
There comes a time in one’s life
when everything feels repeated
Knowledge is old and ages ripe,
desire spent and drive defeated
When wait feels like a long stay
as all reasons appear conceited
Then comes the moment in life
we’ve had enough, are dispirited
Allow me to call your attention
to a most despicable situation.
One that people ever question,
but it’s only actually in reaction.
All alive extend their creation
with survival acts of procreation.
When choice create a situation
then crime is truly the abortion.
It’s common in law as said,
that ignorance is no excuse.
For lots, knowledge has paid;
for much more it will confuse.
For what we claim as ours
is not as we acknowledge.
As ignorance brings chaos;
surely as much knowledge.
All people act like little Weasels
Pretend Beavers and tiny Seals
Their selfishness is quite gifted
He who is told sorry is cheated
All relationships are personal
Nothing human is impersonal
All Life is an act as it is meant
No one should tell you different
Everything that has a beginning
most surely will have some end.
It is logical and simple thinking;
one with proven enduring trend.
The much that’s made and had
will at some point all be waste.
Timeless happiness will be sad
as every world ends in its haste.
Waking is breathtaking daily,
horizons are unendingly new.
Time ticks on and away likely;
everyday an old chore renew.
Her love is a task so sweet,
forged in suicidal sacrifice.
Daily she makes love sweat
murdering her own fire in ice.
Sex is like nothing else.
It is as nice as it is not;
it is reasonable no less
and useless too, of a sort.
Knowledge of it is bliss
Ignorance of it more so
Sex would largely please
It is much like breathing
Once started, no stopping
I am only human after all,
for I am made up as such.
To grow as high as my fall,
and to make of it as much.
My failings are mine alone
and my victories are for all.
I’m damned bloodied bone,
for I’m only human after all.
From whence were you birthed?
The very bowels of ships berthed.
And who had anchored your pains?
Same he that adorned me in chains.
Who housed and fed your pride?
Same he that took away my side.
Who sat you in hard carved wood?
This same master who eats my food.
What lessons were fed to you?
That’s written on my scars too.
What journey have you come from?
One that make up my physical form.
Were you aided and groomed?
Indeed, burdened and tooled.
Where you shaped to a good fit?
Truly, trained to be as yet unfit.
How were you held in place?
Planted, till I lost all my trace.
Surely you tried to branch out?
Rooted trees only get to sprout.
But you grew on and had aged?
Certainly, I’m still not as caged.
So break away and come home.
I’m home in the cage I’m borne.
But all your gains is not evident?
Yet I am surely and truly present.
But you are a readied crucifix?
Yet my time lost I did not miss.
What time it is, is relative;
to just any moment in time.
Though age is cumulative,
it only slowly keeps in time.
These hands that tell time,
only do what we make them;
steering, without the helm.
If stones could speak
and use words like us,
show us what we seek
reveal what was a loss
Will we believe them,
listen to their wisdom?
Or maybe just like them
we are stoned at home.
Men are the price;
Women their prize.
Time the receiver;
Life, ultimate giver.
Living is a long race
Setting its own pace.
You start with a prize
before paying the price.
Inspired by @kelechi_eo
April is here,
and we’re fools again,
to the mystery of life’s gain.
Magnolias and hail
sweet longer evenings,
fills our time with musings.
Easter on the way
seduced by daffodils,
wonderfully time always refills.
Inspired by @gotnomoniker
Old men always dream up wars,
To send more young men to die.
It’s been one of their flaws,
Will always be for it’s no lie.
The young always follow them;
For it’s their forte to be gullible.
Today’s young men,
Tomorrow’s old men
It’s the most misused word
Which says it is quite right
When stakes are put on hold.
It gives up it’s life given right,
To demand, take and be bold.
Winners so abound,
Strapped and bounded.
Elated all around,
Those fine times
Speaks for all kinds.
Saying as do chimes,
That time do binds.
Rare times of winning
Brings forth the hidden.
Revealing all missing;
Like fingers in a mitten.
Why does time keep ticking,
never waiting or ever stopping?
Why does the air fill our lungs,
and we live, where we belong?
Why does mother work still,
while she looks like we all feel?
Why does she walk the street,
daily giving humility a new feet?
If you have a head ache
are you sick in the head?
When a body part break
does it mean it’s your end?
Take it a day at a time
each day again as bright
Chin up for it’s again fine
Just pause, chill and breathe.
Wheels of fortune
Sing your cheeky tune.
Life is a man
Dancing all he can.
Loose as sand,
Lord of all the land.
In all this fuss
You wonder what he has.
The freshness of a blossom
Will wither, fall and dry.
All this earth so awesome,
Ends and will all die.
Most prostitutes are normal bodies,
Hard workers doing their oddities;
Which seem unpopular so visibly,
So they can continue to feed boldly.
Circumstances they try to overcome,
Upturned obstacles making them so,
Resembling every other fleshed bone
With less hypocrisy and shyly so sour.
They are not traders selling a bodily asset,
They rent out for material gain and power
Like the more popular, with more respect;
Unlike political integrity, with less shower.
There’s patience in every wait,
and really, nothing is ever late.
With time, effort and faith,
even a mountain is a gate.
Your pained toil is gone yonder,
it’s training carried you further.
Now that the biology is over,
Earn your pride as a mother.
Age is not just a number
It is time and much more.
Age is a climbing descend,
And a diminishing ascend.
Age is a race with time!;
For and also against time.
One day young and on top.
next, old and about to drop.
Time is a beating heart
ticking away from its start
counting down, ebbing away
taking life away, for it can’t stay