Give me time,
hold the reins soft in your hands.
I’m moulding a future from raw clay,
shaping it with my own hands,
climbing a hill I never stop sliding from.
Be patient with me.
I am giving the last of my breath to build more breath,
praying into the night with worn hope,
waiting for heaven to write back.
God will answer,
I feel it burning somewhere just beyond reach.
But pressure?
Pressure will crush the promise before it flowers.
It will sour the love we planted,
bruise it until it tastes like curse instead of blessing.
Don’t turn your eyes toward the neon world,
the staged lives and filtered fantasies.
You know we feast from little,
yet I still stretch it into something sweeter
so you can glimpse the life I swear I’m carving for us.
But if you make my ribs your stepping stones,
if you demand the world today,
I might not survive to see tomorrow.
I don’t want to die young.
I need silence, space, and peace,
not to escape you,
but to return with enough abundance
to lift us both
into the life that waits.
So hold me gently,
walk beside me,
and one day,
we’ll rise together.
Tag: Black gold
The Unsent Text
The number sits there, plain as unstacked wood,
A short row noted in the mind’s own slate.
The path to use it has been long understood,
And all the tools are ready on the gate.
No mountain to be crossed, no debt to pay,
It’s only patience that I choose to spend.
I’ve kept the thought inside me for a day,
A waiting letter that I will not send.
I tell myself the courage yet remains,
That it is wiser to be quiet just now.
The simple act is subject to the soft rains,
The slow bend of the unpicked apple bough.
It is not cowardice that makes a man delay,
But seeing clear the cost of the last turn,
A field can wait for plowing one more day,
But once you light the fire, it must burn.
The true work is not the reaching out with haste,
But in the long regard I give the wire.
A man must know what he intends to taste,
Before he builds a larger, hotter fire.
I know that once the single stone is thrown,
The ripples travel outward from that date,
And must be met, once they are fully grown,
At the slow-built fence where I’ve chosen to wait.
The Black Gold
She is a Black woman, the black gold,
The first melody of the world,
She is the color of earth after rain, rich, breathing, alive,
Her melanin glows like warm bronze kissed by the sun’s worship,
Her scent drips caramel and wild honey,
Her hips roll like soft thunder beneath silk skies,
Each outline a remnant of creation’s finest hour.
Her body, chiseled by the patient hands of eternity,
Waist cinched like whispered secrets of dusk,
Thighs smooth as riverstones, strong yet tender,
Breasts rise with the grace of new mornings,
Her skin, liquid gold beneath the calm of daylight.
Her face, a portrait where galaxies pause,
Eyes deep enough to drown both sorrow and sin,
Lips ripe with the sweetness of mercy,
Cheeks brushed with sunrise and quiet flame,
And when she smiles, even angels forget their songs.
@doddyokelo
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