Tuesday, July 26, 2011


He itches to write
For in the days of yore
Redemption had come this way
But the battle within drains him
And his words live as stones

He had walked this way
He knows the marks, old footsteps
The caked path, rotting twigs
This path ends soon the winds whisper
But the bogs grow thicker with each step

These are the days of blue
Sunken eyes, unshaven sideburns
Of drifting in the wilderness
Of hollow and guttural laughter, then nauseating bitterness
These are the days of shrouded pain

His soul burns as the life in him shrinks
Life is lived in gusts and busts
Pleasure lives as phantoms, as she
In a slumber
He ne’er wakes from.


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Brie Ross said...

I really enjoy your writings! I have a question for you (I'm not sure if you'll see this in the near future- doesn't look like your site is updated regularly but oh well).
I attend a university in the US, and I'm researching for a class about how African literature is changing in the face of new technology. My research is focused on creative writing in blogs, like yours. Would I be able to keep in contact with you about my project? I'd like to learn how your blogging has impacted your writing and life in general.

Send me an email at RossBL@hendrix.edu. I appreciate it!