…a poem by Sena Quashie Clear Silence | by j.crasselt Listening to my alter ego I forget my wishes It is not niceWhen the choking gray blueOf that life sentenceUnder the yoke of the windIs not a choice But he must be wise in praying He, who relies on the Grace of God Be my last friend standing Though …
Everyday, at every nightYou can’t break me downI won’t surrender In the stillness of the nightI hear you all too wellBut I will not open my eyesI will fight When its just me and youI’ll awake to find myself asleepEvery night we will dance and when I wake;We’ll both disappear I won’t fight no moreI …
Maybe Tomorrow (FunkyGemini) …a poem by Sena Quashie — 15 jan, ‘16 My eyes are the dew On the wet grass They see only the hand placed On the page of the rainWhere the thinning of poetry Is blurred By trying to reproduce the summer Under the advent of clouds It is a failed watercolor Of a sunshine on the beach But tomorrow maybe The light will …
gone!
This is not a poem
Every bone, though not broken
sticks out sorely.
As the angry sun raged through
the dusty afternoon
I have sat here for long observing
how the hot air never flows
Nothing every flows in here, tbh
– not me and surely not you.
As I leave for the last time
I’m not sure anybody else knows
It’s a quiet goodbye and I’m sorry
but I wish I were sorrier.
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I heard clear silence
…a poem by Sena Quashie Clear Silence | by j.crasselt Listening to my alter ego I forget my wishes It is not niceWhen the choking gray blueOf that life sentenceUnder the yoke of the windIs not a choice But he must be wise in praying He, who relies on the Grace of God Be my last friend standing Though …
To my Nightmare
Everyday, at every nightYou can’t break me downI won’t surrender In the stillness of the nightI hear you all too wellBut I will not open my eyesI will fight When its just me and youI’ll awake to find myself asleepEvery night we will dance and when I wake;We’ll both disappear I won’t fight no moreI …
Maybe…tomorrow
Maybe Tomorrow (FunkyGemini) …a poem by Sena Quashie — 15 jan, ‘16 My eyes are the dew On the wet grass They see only the hand placed On the page of the rainWhere the thinning of poetry Is blurred By trying to reproduce the summer Under the advent of clouds It is a failed watercolor Of a sunshine on the beach But tomorrow maybe The light will …