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My life is a web, a network of failure and empty reality. I go out like crackers from a barrel aimed at the sky and return with nothing, but char and smoke that eventually gets swallowed by the wind -
I am a gory metaphor. I sink in a mire, I keep falling and never land - never given a chance to climb back up.

My soul is a shadow. It has no face, It has no rigor. It has no direction. It follows me about like an old blind man led by a stick whose eyes are a young Fulani boy in a velvet cap, on this rugged path _ and if I trip we both fall into an abyss as we have so many times.

I am like a book judged by the cover - and even the few who take their time to flip my pages miss the ellipses…. I have too many ellipses that I becamee an ellipses in your own stories - I shrink in the bright corner of your memories.

I am the Cardinal point, a ship without a compass -

I am the blind that leads the blind into a pit. I am the vision of a child. I do not see beyond the guaranguatourm of ellipses and unwanted memories. My heart is a haze, my life a maze, my path a daze… My life is in a labyrinth that is not my own, I am like a cockroach that wanders into a spider web.

And I wander still like the Cowboys with their herd, searching for greener pastures -
But satisfaction seems not to come with green grasses…. Life is a snare, you will always find green snakes in green grasses -
One solution leads to another problem, one answer leads to another question, arrival is the beginning of another journey.

I am an artist. I paint dreams. I paint perfection in happy pictures. I paint the sky with flying kites. I paint children with happy smiles, homes devoid of divorce, families without domestic violence, children devoid of hunger, I paint education, I paint people without ailments, I paint Justice, I paint good governance, I paint love, I paint immortality -
I paint the irony of my reality.

I am a journal. Sometimes I'm written in prose. sometimes I'm written in poetry. Sometimes I'm expressed with the silence in lurking sadness.

I am a canvas where everyone paints their pictures. To girls a knight in shining armor. To boys a villain, to men an idiot, to women a bad husband, to parents a bad influence, to children a beautiful friend, to orphans a considerate brother, to clients a greedy businessman, to lovers, a beautiful fellow -
But I am a mirror, I show you a reflection of yourself!

I am a mist, a fog, a cloud. I have seen many ends that sprouted many beginnings. I am larvae in evolution -

Sometimes I wonder, will I metamorphose into a colored butterfly or a fiery dragon?

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content


this is prose, not poetry. But, no less interesting. I feel the picture of your humanity. Your title is good, the theme likewise, your language is pretty good and I find tha the ending seemed to be of a three-fold nature that begs for three different poems. ~ Geez.

Come to chat every Thursday - 3:30 to 4:30 pm. EST.
With: c Lynn Brooks and Geezer

And yes, there is a form called Prose Poem. I came to show it.


author comment

out on this one! I am humbled and aplogetic. ~ Geezer.

Come to chat every Thursday - 3:30 to 4:30 pm. EST.
With: c Lynn Brooks and Geezer

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