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Walter T Rambwi Poem
There are people who are simply dazzling
What they do to you, you can’t explain.
With just a single instant you can know;
Know that I can live with this person and all their troubles.
That kind of person you know I can marry.
That kind of person whose picture you can zoom into from all angles.
That kind of a person whom when you think of, inspires your whole day.
That kind of a person whose smile you would want to see each morning.
How much I wish she knew.
She is that kind of person I want write my only vows for.
That kind of person I want to be my first and my last.
That kind person I want to laugh, cry, jubilate and spend every day with.
She is that kind of person I dig.
Her presence creates an aura that mesmerizes my heart, and furnishes my soul
In her presence my heart is buoyant, in a serene atmosphere, which she only can create.
She is that kind of person.
I hope, I am that kind of a person that makes her blush,
That kind of person that makes butterflies rejoice in her belly.
I want to be that kind of person.
Everyday
I want to marry you
Copyright © Walter T Rambwi | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Walter T Rambwi Poem
My reality is a reflection of the past.
A frivolous life lived so fast.
With no hesitation, doubt I always cast.
I get indolent even on a high priority task.
I look to the east and there’s no sun.
Yet it’s supposed to be a morning but it seems as dusk.
I have a lot of questions, but I don’t know who to ask.
The secret life of Walter Mitty, it’s no fun.
I would rather be the bum, than to be a fallen hero .
I am good with numbers but all my equation’s sum up to zero.
The state of mediocrity vellicates my nerves.
Yet I choose to live in the present whilst building the future on my past.
My heart seeks solace in very dark places.
My soul is void and empty pursuits it chases.
The moment I forgot to roar, woke up a decade later to realize I was drifting.
In the deep sea, I now realize that my oar is at the docking yard.
My reference to the future is delusional.
The past forgave me, but the present entangles me in a chasm filled with lava.
The inferno is irrepressible, no one can extinguish it.
If there’s sense in this poem then my mental faculties require restructuring.
An empty verse is supposed to be meaningless.
An empty verse is supposed to be a set of theatrically arranged words bearing meaning.
Only to the author.
Copyright © Walter T Rambwi | Year Posted 2015
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