Broken bristles of bile
And a sundown smile
Was all she needed to discover
My words are quicksand
Too late. Too late. Too late. Too late.
Rough teeth, gated heart
Addicted to the back bite
All these people talking about heaven
Lying to themselves
And taking comfort in your confused belief.
But love will save me
Because I’m not a believer
That inner river bleeds me drunk
The city’s my village
What’s the big difference? Propaganda.
– che chidi chukwumerije.
“But love will save me”
Only if we all have that has our watch word, we will live a happier life.
Great writing sir !! 🙂 as always
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Thank you, Ebun. Have a nice Sunday.
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I sure will, I hope you do the same.
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My words are quick sand.
Too late. Too late. Too late. Too late.
Too late.
Great words from a smart man.
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I’m glad you like the poem, Jessica 🙂
Deep woman.
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Reblogged this on CHE.
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