splendid manners of the wise

your poetry is just words and lies

if your tongue speaks with envious eyes

and you hold anger in your heart, further engraving your demise.

Because poetry reflects feelings; and the best feelings are of truth

And truth begets knowledge, and begets splendid manners of the wise

 

 

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Contemplation

Oh Allah I used to cry to you all the time
Until you dried my tears away
but then just as my eyes became dry
so did my heart
because when I’d moisten my eyes with my tears
so would my heart remain moist

and despite the tears of sadness
I’d find through the rivers
cooling streams
giving my reluctance security
giving my shyness integrity

yet, now I’m treading on my own path

using my imagination to lay down bricks

that make their turns on rifts

 

Oh Lord, turn these scorched roads

into meandering runoffs

that lead to secret gardens

and profused abodes

before my heart completely hardens

and becomes spitefully zesty with nothing more than

ugly scoffs

 

 

So I pray to my bewildernment
as I sit hear with my hands up high
begging for my eyes to never dry
lest these amateur paths my hands pry

crumble nigh without knowing why