“If she (ever) comes

I have been sifting,
Beneath tranquility, modelling my jinxed solitude,
Adjusting my ground and establishing my territory.
There were falling petals, growling from thirst,
Eclipsed from my soul by bare rugs of love,
Oh the flightless resolves mimicked my purloined self,
But now …

I’m colorfully restraint on the fingers of love,
Having crashed on intense polarity.
Earth split and spit its hermit flames upon me,
And in my unbound contention, I sat satisfied,
Though I get prickings from the stoked fields.
Then in moments day and night hold for seconds,
I recoil to frolicking and melancholia.
I have dreamt of taming the moon ever so lamented in my poetry,
And bounded in the loins of grammar,
I have lurked seeking seduction by the stream of consciousness.

Yet I have kept my eyes on the ground,
Constantly zoomed my sight even as I stood as an oak tree.
Maybe she is here … I want to be the cause of her transcendence,
The stridency sieve of her raving commonalities.
I need to spangle in the teeth of her tempest, tightening bolts,
If only to be the bulwark against her mercurial emotions,
Propagate a world for us and have her roam free,
Then in moments I seem to have and those I loose – I disintegrate.

In sorrow and intense suffocation,
Entombed in the weeping rooms coughing from dark tides,
I have sought the tairen’s light to shake my fabric,
To get kneading, if only to rebuild myself.
Yet this girl, this woman I yearn for –
Lets me loose on my blood fantasy of writing tragedies,
Once speaking of burnt pages and withering pens.
I stand in my foiled humility and honesty,
Constantly overwhelmed by a saboteur gaming girl,
Dirtying the threads that ensure I survive.

How should I writer her?
Lilies glowed before when Belle shook my veins,
And when she left, I painfully combined her chronicles,
Till I severed any thread she had on me.
But her …
I’m intrigued in her confession, yet her pride sets her flaming jealousy,
Abdicates my efforts then crowns my competition into her arms.
I’m left again with blank sheets,
And a pen drawing ink from my heart in a synchronized outpouring,
Thus wondering, thence cometh forth hailstorms or rainbows?

© Eddy Ongili 2014


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