Passions are these things fleeting that last only momentarily.
Emotions you see, are like a sea,
you try to stop it, but you still sink, no buoy or gull can save you,
And no tongue you scream in can overcome the tonne that drags you deeper still.
You’ll always feel the need to do a deed,
apparently what you already did doesn’t count, at least not enough for you to proceed.
Things you once hid rear their heads as you heed the cry of this feeling that now controls your life feed.
It takes one to know one they say, but of course it does, can’t you see they’re twins?
Well, I for one think that those who are already deep sometimes fail to recognise when others are just taking a dip,
So they get so engrossed in “being there” and showing they “care” to see the truth of the water in taken from the glass, just a sip.
It takes time and patience to recover from the sudden departure of that perpetrator, they stand accused of being a “deep archer”,
the kind that shoot you where it matters, like the chubby child we all love to flatter.
“Give me a sign” the deep shall say, as they sigh and wait for yet another day,
a day in which they hope that hole in their whole shall be filled with something other than complete dismay.
It takes time you know, and you’ll never know your time, such juxtaposed existence in a world full of mysteries and secrets.
Taking heart is the first step to letting your heart take back the peace it lost through heartbreaks.
With that, I shall stop this carefully crafted wordplay,
random as this is, no thesis about it exists,
I simply think and the e-nk spells out what goes on behind these hazel eyes: poetic mist.
Until next time Mr. and Ms.
Yours in perpetuity,
Evans Mbora Campbell.