Tuesday, October 25, 2016

The Heart's Poetry: Vengeance is Mine

Vengeance is Mine

I think I once told you this world was a lie; that it would do nothing but cause you to cry

I think you ignored me and said goodbye; but now you’ve returned to ask me just why

Why did I let you still forge your way, when I knew the price of penance you’d pay?

Why did I watch as you rushed to the fray, and never once tell you, your heart was their prey?

I think I was there when you fell apart

I think I once offered to protect your heart

I think you were arrogant; self owned and assured, that fate would be kind and life would be good

Such folly you possessed neath the soils of your breasts; and by god you did fail, when time gave its test

If but you had seen, the roots of the dream; sucking your soul, so empty and clean

Perhaps you’d have come back longing before, for me to again throw open my door

But blind as you were, you fell to the night, and mistook the stars for suns in their light

You reached for them all and did but attain, to nothing save air, and endless cold rain

But this is no answer! Please tell me, you cry

Now aching to know the truth of the why

Could not I have wrapped you tight within chains, and kept you with love away from all pains?

Could not I have forced your heart but to beat, for myself alone, and swept out your feet?

Oh if but I could, perchance then I would; if not you were stubborn beyond your own good

You seem to forget all that was done; by me from the start to show you the one

The one who would stand for you without cause; the one who’d defend and never would pause

The one who would set you high above all; the one who would catch you, if ever ye fall

But alas, you are crass, to but demand; that I should now show you, my most cruel hand

That I should reveal all truth of the lie, hidden beneath the answer of why

Why did I let you wither and die?

Why did I let you shatter and cry?

Why did I watch you waste all your time?

Why must you ask?

For vengeance is mine

© 2009-2012 Raheema Muhammad

Tuesday, October 18, 2016

The Heart's Poetry: Nameless Salvation

Nameless Salvation

I am the sickness you feel in your heart; the melodic sorrow which sings in the dark

To paint just my soul, you’d have to be blind; to possess myself, you must loose your mind

I am the night, the cage of your dreams; within me is nothing, quite as it seems

I hold each key, to set yourself free; and I know all that, you can and will be

Trust in my words, they never will fail

Cling to me now; I’ll give you the world

Watch them all shatter, burning in hell; arise from their ashes, burst through your shell

I am the wings, uplifting your back; I make up for all, you angels may lack

To say I am faith would halfway be true

For I am the essence of simple virtue

I am the truth beneath the great lies; the reflective clear glass they’re taught to despise

I exist only to open your eyes, and shield you all from, a timely demise

© 2009-2012 Raheema Muhammad

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

The Heart's Poetry: The Spot

The Spot

You are the spot I can’t wash away; the vigilant stain which streaks my day

With colors of warmth to vanquish the gray, that seeps from the shadows, and clouds up my way

You are the moon, gentle and bright, who cradles the stars, and softens each night

I spend every dream reaching for you, and wish that you’ll never fade into blue

You are the rain, soothing my skin, drenching my soul, sustaining my sin

I’ve drowned beneath you, again and again, while playing each game, I know I can’t win

You are the sun, a furnace of heat--that burns though the lies, and trips up my feet

You catch me before the ground and I meet; then tell me, so sure, I’m all yours to keep

You are the love, I’ve waited to find; the one, only chain, I never shall mind

You are the thing that eats up my time

The permanent spot, which stays only mine

© 2009-2012 Raheema Muhammad

Tuesday, October 4, 2016

The Heart's Poetry: Neurotic Nymphomaniacs

Neurotic Nymphomaniacs

Morality is the myth, their hungers cast aside

Forgotten is their virtue, withdrawn is their pride

No longer are they pure, but beasts beneath the skin, who flourish in their madness, and trespass for their sin

Hazy are their eyes, lurid be their lusts; depraved are their hearts, reckless be their trusts

Heaven scorned they fall, in passions they decay; for them the night is grand, and dismal is the day

The world they see is bleak, marked by flaring flames, which burn so often out, then mutate into chains

The lives they live are briefer, even than the rain, which bleeds out from the clouds, and soaks each cage they claim

Their dreams are filled with heat, pleasures tinged by pain

They tarry where they choose, and feel no touch of shame

© 2009-2012 Raheema Muhammad