Tuesday, August 15, 2017

The Heart's Poetry: Love's Ado


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Love’s Ado

Love, it is that vacant spot, the thing that winsome writers jot

Down hoping to perceive more clear, the thing which we all grow to fear

For much too easy it comes near, and far too often, disappears



Leaving fingers stretched in vain, bringing tears down like the rain



Love, it is our greatest pain, the thing that warps great men in shame

For neither fortune, nor their fame, can succor them from such a bane



Love, it is a dangerous game, with rules that few can ever name

And many faces, true and false, to blind all those it may accost



With rosy dreams of silk and lace, or cherished lips they long to trace

It offers poisoned, juicy fruit, which tastes like heaven’s stolen loot



Love, it is a tempestuous thing, for which our mouths may scream and sing

It is the reason we all feign, and accept each foolish, hurtful dream



Love, it is a precious find, which in truth we do not mind

For all its wasting up of time, it still erases every line



Dividing us in heart and mind, and leaving us within a bind



Love, it is our strangest friend, that leads us on straight till the end

  © 2009-2012 Raheema Muhammad 

Tuesday, August 8, 2017

The Heart's Poetry: My Precious Thorn

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My Precious Thorn

Dear precious thorn, I love you so


And cannot stop, as even though you hurt me always to my heart, my soul cries out from every part





To feel your painful, sharpened lance, with each and every smelting glance





You send my way through clouded mist, and cause my thoughts to drift and shift





Beyond the bounds of rapturous list, which holds me fast within a fist, so tightly bound in lawlessness


I curse you so with bitterness





Most precious thorn, I cannot see, myself no longer minus thee





Nor can I fathom, life to be, something sweeter without thee


Deeply lodged within my mind, sinking further every time, poisoning me with hot thick wine


Dripping slowly down my spine





My precious thorn, you draw the worst, up out of me, with every burst





You cause me but to thirst and thirst, for you to be the very first





To be the last to shred apart, the tender flesh around my heart





To rip me open, see the part, of me yet trapped inside the dark





My precious thorn, you’ll never know, just how much I love you so





And cherish your sweet constant pain





For in my heart, I feel your reign



 © 2009-2012 Raheema Muhammad 

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

The Heart's Poetry: Bitter Circumlocution

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Bitter Circumlocution

Time is short and running out, on those of us who live in doubt

Of the purpose we are born, and the truth for which we’ve sworn



To always follow and receive, and not refuse, but to believe

With all our earnest, stone like hearts, which melt in pieces every part



As we go each day about, swimming constant in and out, of peaceful waters streaming fast, and burning hells we move on past



Touching not their fickle flames, and wearing not their filthy chains

Which seek to bind us to the ground, and drag us further, down, down, down…



Into the graves for which we’re bound, to fall into without a sound

Warning us off a quick demise, which hides within the bed of lies, they all make up with foolish dreams that fall apart right at the seams



Just as they pick each crooked path, with no great thought to who was last

To travel down the winding road, which leads straight to a dark abode

In which they cannot ever thrive, for none within are left alive

 © 2009-2012 Raheema Muhammad