When truth has no burning, then it is philosophy, when it gets burning from the heart, it becomes poetry.
When is it ever not the time to.
Kill me now, kill me later,
Granted, I must die.
Is it not overt, that breathing is plight enough?
It is written so.
Late last night, at the superhighway, I thought.
How painless could death be if I drove off the way
But I thought again, I need a new pair of sneakers.
So, tell me now, don’t you know, or am I the broken one?
Kill me now, kill me later,
It is granted, I must die.
But if I am to choose when to,
My Lord, let it be after August.
I am a poet, article writer and an author. I have authored two books thus far( From the African Left Hand Ink and Mine that I Love) with over 200 poems. I have collaborated in several anthologies including Shades of Pain by Jael Migiro. Poetry is my escape from reality and my life's shelter and recourse. Making art is one of the most beautiful things I have had to do in my life with the intent of entertaining and expressing feelings. Feelings of both me and others. View all posts by Duncan
Dunca9n