Turmoil Of Fiend

"... being lost in the turmoil of memories, again;
don’t ev’n know how to fathom sanity of pain
Every single time it arriving to my wondrous heart,
i realizing how fast ev’n the world gone changed

My words ain't so necessary to be heard
so i ain't push you to give a damn ‘bout
Once i used to live life
however, today, seemingly, i seeing everything with re-doubt

Everything loomed corrupt xcross the dread-world
Nothing left sane to be believed in
It’s true, every time i tryna step ahead,
Ev’n my own shadow seems to be sleeping on me with grin

I lost my faith & my faith’d lost me,
"Love has substantially no language . . . 
with which you might be communicated"

Love be one hunger - the desperation;
dirty obsession of dangerously blown seduction
that has people indulged with wicked sin,
Ha! Once i’d past my past; all strips of squirt-ed life,
but today, i again go floated ov'r the buoyancy - lost in the turmoil of fiend, confined.

***

Lover Of Night

The wrinkles of puckered bed-sheet

speaking the truth we never told . . . 

Furrowed lace of curtains, i see,

 displaying things we hardly controlled

My heart can nev'r be sold out . . .

not ev’n in the auction of love

Whether it’s silver or the color of very gold,

i'll keep you all of the things, damn above 

Jobs ain’t so indispensable to me, but your prospective love is

I may resign numerous jobs for you,

if it ain’t allow me lovin’ you whenever i want to . . .

Whatever obstacles coming by my way . . .

will get eroded by my love

& ‘tis’s the pragmatism of lovelife - the life . . .

that i’ve already relinquished...

to the bottom of your pappy-flabby, quaggy-swaggy feet, thereof. 

***

To real man, In todays economy, the texture of job is one unbearable barrier in twix of lovelife. Both the person at job & a man with discipline can nevr be the one a woman expects him to be. He can't evn spend much time with her, no matter whether how badly he wants to so, today, on 'tis Xmas eve, i portray something chromatic that has its own iridescent perceptive blown through the meanderings of love.

A man chooses to be a writer cos... only a man with pen & great sensations of thoughts can be what he & his love of life want him to be - The Lover Of Night.