Onions close to the eyes

Burning desires which left painful ashes

Have been sprinkled on my tongue to lick

Bitter than gall what appealed to the nose

Which in a sneeze was forced out

And filled full the wind pipe

Oh now what winds followed these painful actions

Opened eyes which will acclaim others and not me

Goodbye said and well said

Should not be like onions close to the eye

If the heart speaks

If the heart speaks

The mind will follow

My heart spoke

Years before her heart spoke

Is there anything a man of honour shouldn't have?

Your love, my home

Beyond the white and green

Flowers bloom on the shelf

The red romantic candles

And the delicately painted

White sticks I see

Is what has made me whole

What has made this house mine

Your love, my home

What love is hate that loves

What love is hate that loves

That leaves the rest for you

Abandoned so early so shocking to be true

Hopes rely on that which is so thin

Can break that which is so precious

when abandoned, feeling sadder than horror movies

waiting for love in silence

not a word to send you away

will love come when I am gone

would I find love when away

closed lips and minds harboring a noisy confusion

ready to explode a single pierce

love for man blinds the mind

links the classes, races emerge in

love for man if not to the end

worse than before it began a rebirth of class and race

whom to tell that gall so bitter

no one to trust not even friends

seeing yourself wasting away slowly like a landslide

slowly your whole world you’ll see unfold

At my sick bed, at my side

At 70, weaker in strength

Duller in memory than I

She has done it

Over and over again

And now feels no pain

She has done it

What she has ever protected

her gain

In silent whispers

In the echoes of the present

You are all I have,

don’t put me to shame

They will laugh at us,

just put a little in your mouth

At the entrance of my life still calling

Fight on “Brother”

Fight for that life

I am out now

I am out now

thinking...

I heard a shout

not a cry

We might be bruised
yet standing,

ever fallen

but up,

heart still within

for all,

eyes still gazing

at the goal.

No man can stop

but us delay.

Thank you my own

On this mystical path I am blessed

but you, my own, who will have

when i think of it?

The thoughts of you around 

that you will be there

frees me from acts of shame and sham

from crime and eternal cries

For all timely support

through thick and thin

you tack me in night and bright 

like the early morning dew on the tendrils

before the damsels awake to fetch water 

from the wells and oases to nurture

You bless my countenance fallen

like you have always done

ever faithful ever assured

even when I was a stranger

now your love

your own

... thank you my own.

© Emperor Leander David

Dedicated to Proph 25.6.2019