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.
Once was a rich man
with a big spoiled family;
he lived an unhappy man.
He wrote his will
and he put in a pan,
stamped with his seal.
After he had died
his whole family met
to mourn and all cried.
His will unsealed
and then it’s torn up
as they merrily mealed.
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.
Time crawls to us, not away;
and it catches up in our way.
We’re never its chasing park;
like a Wolf it finds our track.
That time waits for none of us,
is more true than we choose.
For it does edges towards us
and always ever looming close.
I am a dreamer,
not in my sleep.
I am the winner
in good upkeep.
Lurking so near
in my mind’s liar,
an unending tale
also fitting to tell.
All thoughts are,
But dreams are,
firm virtual forts.
Dreams carry on,
never do end later.
They’re once upon
and also ever after.
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.
How can someone so smart,
turn out quite so stupid too?
How come someone so loved
could turn out quite so cruel?
There are ever circumstances;
and ever always consequences.
As there’s timing in everything,
are also reasons for everything.
There is everything for its time,
like everything in its own time.
gets in the way of niceties.
But then certain instances
maketh their opportunities,
without warning or any ease
Taking the ride through life
feels like towed backwards.
Seeing clearer for your self
after you heard your words.
Living likens owing the Gods.
We can’t change what we can’t;
it’s a fact of life that outlive us.
No getting on or off as you want;
complain your wish, life is no bus.
Go with the flow of ticking time,
taking all the decisions you must.
Spend well your currency of time,
no change left when we die at last.
Social media has us not so sure
about what’s true or maybe not
When it’s news, we’re not sure
Not even when it maybe not.
News is new, obviously right?
Must be true, not maybe news
Gray is neither black or white,
So nothing in-between is news
We’re suffering and call it living;
right where we remain seething.
The reason we’re slowly dieing,
obviously is our own choosing.
This torture is of our own doing;
and this enslaves our reasoning.
Every day we fire up the boiling
and yet dish our all the blaming.
What colors are people really?
It’s been a race thing, isn’t it?
Always been a contest surely;
ran all through time, ain’t it?
The sun rises to make a day,
moon smiles white at night.
Color of life shades our way,
every life is as dark or bright.
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.
Aren’t we all citizens of earth;
firstly simply humans beings?
Sure as we’re free in thought
we’ll love or hate some things.
We’re too different to be same,
too alike in ways that’re insane.
So the expression of our tastes,
merely make up our many faiths
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.
When last did you’ve a habit?
It just happened on its own
or you toiled and worked at it?
Not the filthy things you do
like smoking or biting nails.
But those tiny trivials we do
Like Indian nod; only they do,
the Negroid’s sense of Rythym
And the Caucasian’s damn ego.
There’s no real loyalty anymore,
everybody wants more for sure.
Family will enslave until you die
and colleagues work a same lie.
All friends are all only as needy;
there’s nothing new about that.
Love is a bargain and so moody,
everything is priced, it is a fact.
Once a race was in place
for today and tomorrow.
Today says a step to pace,
tomorrow rather they row.
Yesterday the only umpire,
who decided they just wait.
Thus a race we never hear,
tomorrow is today now here;
yesterday is always so unfair.
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.
Within and outside every being
is the good, the bad and the ugly.
It is true of every single entity;
be it inanimate or alive or dying.
Nothing more is fitting naturally.
Over time immemorial as now
people see beauty as so rare.
Searching as far as they know;
to the world’s ends and near.
But beauty is quite so common,
it’s here, there and everywhere;
in all seen, enjoyed and put on.
The beautiful is simply so near.
Painting by @Falopebrhyme
Every diamond is a stone,
every single one of them.
Starting off many of none,
later never again all alone;
once it’s known it’s them.
Mere inanimate pieces,
come through hottest hell.
Aged icy glaze gem pieces,
steeled over so many misses
Harden stones with tales to tell
When you pray for rain,
It says a lot about you.
Certainly your brain
has some sense too.
You doubt some science,
and have a lot less faith
in logic and conscience;
as in birth and death.
When Hate resembles love, it doesn’t.
Especially if Terror claims to come in peace.
Is it possible, loving anything you mustn’t,
Abhorring the whole but not it’s piece?
Then that peace you want wouldn’t; Not ever be yours, even on short lease.
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.
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
Wisdom is broad;
Knowledge is narrow.
It’s like getting a broad,
Takes wit, fits and sorrow.
Found my missing rib;
taken many eons ago,
from man’s first ever crib.
Named every living thing,
even she who Woo Man,
she who changes everything.
Now all time is theirs;
though life goes onwards,
I am caged to all of hers.
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
When daily Life is Too Hot,
Who cares if home is a Pot?
We’re born to make Breath.
We are all groomed to Fight,
Schooled, cooked to Adapt
Nigeria is a pot of Rich Stew
Badly cooked by the rich Few.
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.
Shades own place in the sun;
Like the shadows that will run,
Is hidden from its glories glare
With the truth they all must bear.
There’s a thing about every action
That speaks for every perception
And it tells it’s own unique story
Consciously archived in memory
Any wretched tale of denial,
Of disdained failure and trial,
Will reveal as a dogged bout
Of one toughened life time,
All worn through but not out.
As we moan in our far watch;
Nagging our peopled conscience,
We miss out entirely that the catch
Is made up of all our overt nonsense.
A large rich island just drags on,
Not for the size it must always hug.
The bulk of it lost the very reason
Why rich minds will make it a slug.
Long nights had passed by,
I still stray into the dream.
My tears had filled my try,
My beaten milk isn’t cream.
Donkeys’ years pass on along
And made me an ass all alone.
Donkey’s oversized head belong
To the horses my very fate own.
The will shade appear itself
And I can not be too careful.
In crossing to my other half,
I find I am the Zebra’s fool.
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.
Story behind the picture here;
I know it all, at least most of it.
Whole of it is all written there,
It was not told to me, I saw it.
It’s actually too glaring to miss
Happened right before my eyes
Where fell my toad holder piece
A truck ran over toad and keys.
O little, little, tiny ant;
Do you wonder who I am,
Standing big moving plant,
Always about to do you harm.
All buddies have a thing they do
That comes with time and trust
It is something they share too;
Something that can not be lost.
They could be more than two;
With more bodies than it cost.
Still they share something true,
They can’t say for sure or sort.
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.
That simple deed you daily handle
Reveal so much about how you work.
Just as everybody carries their bundle
Of life’s joy and sorrow that will mock.
That piece of action you handle
Reveal your final piece of work.
Just like every artists’ own bundle
Of clay would praise and also mock.
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.
Where a man goes
So points his toes.
And what he knows;
Not all what he does,
Would lessen his woes.
All around are foes,
with yet another ruse.
Up any tree he throws;
With a beat to choose,
Could be his mangoes.