Poetry Bulawayo

     Things aren't going right,     Because I'm never there     A bad end's in sight,     If I don't start to care.    I've got to organize my life,    Get my act together,    Get my priorities right,    Set my life to measure.    Gotta get my head outta the clouds,    And stop fantasizing,    Set my feet on the ground,    See stuff I wasn't realizing.   I'm not gonna force it but I'll just,   Give it a little shove,   And along the course I'll thrust,   With a gentle love.

These musty thoughts of hurt Never again to be retrieved From the recycle bin of this mind The dust clogged chest of drawers There the cobwebs will multiply In this musty room dump the trash The smithereens of my broken heart These musty thoughts of hurt The hideous ghosts of the past Severely battering today’s happiness A millstone around the neck That event cast into an abyss

Are we the bright colours painting this global canvas and our actions a contradiction of this beauty; The blood spills are a reflection of the fiery anger etched in our hearts and all weaponry is ingenuity of a bitter soul  the background is all scary red, Innocent tears can’t quench this consuming fury, child like pleas can’t make 'em stop the abuse  'n' clobberin' of the weaker sex as they seem unsexed by the cloud of darkness which all black compliments their red ambers of hate, They open their eyes to illusion, deafen their ears with lies oozing from the belly of the beast and like flower with dull petals  I perceive this world's just an ugly painting