African Poetry - Struggle Inquest

2019-01-11T08:57:56.000Z Honest Cash

I'm at odds, on this desolate cold shore

How shall I my Self sustain, this far away

Immense green sea lapping at my bare feet

White cold gales gnawing into a rotting heart.


By a faceless hand a brother's coat appears

Adorns a warm weight around my shoulders

Stalls a million quivering questions to recede

The salty suds returnin fading into the blue.


Starting round and toward your features, gaze

Your voice is wind, I gather up my stakes and go

To fires, fruits within caverns we always knew

Tabled every hope to vanquish such dank greed


We'll ease old disease, around a table feast and laugh

relate adventures to remind ourselves once more

of the days we drew sketches on walls and T-shirts

and wore them as badge lights, to our common love


17th October 2018, Gapyeong - Collection: Midday Walks

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - Previously posted, steemit