My latest poem

Yes, I was upset…

Truth                   

Those who feel there is a cavity in the middle,

Are the ones who are indeed full,

For, to level with yourself and detach yourself from the fickle,

Is like splitting the soul with a sickle.

A slap in the face,

Hits your consciousness like a mace,

Separates you from the blithe,

Like a gleaming sharp scythe.

You first get yourself in a briny sour pickle.

The light comes on,

No more darkness.

Not even a speckle.

In the well of my spirit,

The water attempts to cleanse,

My heart of fiends that pose as friends,

Why am I not appeased when I achieved it?

What quelled my thirst now chokes,

But still sustains me.

Lies stew and strew as the fire stokes,

But it is an overwhelming explosion within the darkness dispels,

Freedom? I see nothing but levels and levels of hells.

Are you satisfied?

No sir, I am not.

I still have something left over,

But it doesn’t seem like a lot.

How is this fair?

Let us compare.

The ones who are so full of themselves,

They are not as full as dust ridden shelves,

Their pleasure is the misery of the other.

At the pit of their warm reception is the eventual doom of deception.

The worst is that in their own mind,

Their justice so unkind,

The proud assumption of the spiritually blind,

Is what they use to bind

Themselves to the Highest one.

To pass judgement against another in not your place

And of that you shall be reminded should you see that face.

Trust not what you see,

Behind the eye contains more of what should be.

Your own heart will mislead you,

Can I really overcome to the point that I am even smarter than myself?

By Louella Mahabir- 26^th. September, 2011.

~ by louella001 on September 28, 2011.