Monday, August 28, 2017

The Heart's Poetry: Lascivious Sensations


Lascivious Sensations
Sighs, they fall from parted lips, as fingers paint the curves of hips

Swaying to the steady beat, of rhythms hashed by dizzy feet



Spines, they tingle with the bass, electrified by tones encased

Within the air no longer chaste, but ravished by the words all laced



With love, so thick you can just taste, them melting slowly down your face

Running backwards to your throat, like sweet slick honey on chocolate slopes



Eyes, they close in ecstasy, as arms stretch up and minds go free



No longer bound to simply be, laden by the world we see, soaked with blood and misery



They drown themselves in fantasy



Craving the feel of fond release, which comes just as they snap the leash



Taking them in with frisky arms, spinning them round through blazing storms

Of thundering motions, wild and swift



And raining waves of utter bliss
 © 2009-2012 Raheema Muhammad 

Monday, August 21, 2017

The Heart's Poetry: Suspicious Love



Suspicious Love

Why do I adore you so? Honestly, I do not know

Could it be your perfect smile, or your eyes which do beguile me every time I look your way

Forgetting reasons to behave, in such a way promoting sense, before I go and jump the fence?



Why do I feel so insane, as each whisper of your name, teases both my tender ears, seducing me to rupturing tears?



Why does just the thought of you, blot all others from my view, and push me into fantasies, plagued by you, my heart’s disease?



Why am I sucked in so fast, by toothsome words that will not last, beyond the up incoming year, you’ll slip away, no longer near?



Why have you transformed me so, into a creature filled with woe?



Could it be you wish to know, just how far my love may go?



Could it be you can’t perceive, nor find it simple to believe, in such a blatant, na├»ve amor



Striving to break down the door, leading to your wounded core, crying out for nevermore



Another love to botch the chore, of healing up the blistering sore
  © 2009-2012 Raheema Muhammad 



Tuesday, August 15, 2017

The Heart's Poetry: Love's Ado



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



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



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