I’m the sorrow that cries deep, whining and pining from all the pain the world has cast, now I found a friend. He was different from the others he was sad he was a poet.
Oh friend, You think you’ve experienced pain cast by the world?
I don’t think so!
I’m likened to pain itself thus I’m sad,
What does a pained person have to offer?
Poetry isn’t my thing but I do it to pass messages,
Messages no one would listen to, so I write them.
And messages they are, I barely could read but I heard your pain from the ink of your heart, some days I am left confused by how much you have survived but today I only mean to appreciate you. You are the friend of the ages.
I anticipate this from new friends;
I write in languages they wouldn’t understand at a go,
A lion doesn’t make friend with a dog,
I’m sad and you’re sad too,
Alas, you can hear from my heart,
What I’ve chosen to put down as an art,
Survival is of the fittest,
And compliments are for mortals,
I’m a god.
And not just a god you see, you are indeed a creator, because from every word you breathe is a new creation an art for the ages, you are a conqueror and I will ride with you into the battle of Olympus which is the battle of our lives. For there is no greater purpose than to stand by my friend and conquer this cruel universe.
But do not forget, that I’m a sad poet,
My pen dances only to hate,
My ink flows only when I’m pained,
That’s every time;
Still, my pen is mightier than thousands of swords,
You claim to be a friend;
Friends like the last three alphabets has an end,
You remember the tale of Caesar and Brutus,
That ain’t gonna happen with me,
For I’d smite you even before you betray me.
Now where comes this talk of betrayal, Brutus and caeser were but mere men, we are gods my friend, we create living and breathing things with the rhythm of our pens.
You are in pain I know, but so am I. Remember that the thing that units us is the pain we share, the fact that our hearts beat different, and the fact that the only true friendship we know is we.
I know I am a gun but I’d never be aimed at you even if you have your daggers drawn for what better way to prove my loyalty than to die at your hands and live in your heart.
Alas, my dear friend,
Let our pens keep dancing,
Our inks flowing,
On blank papers, that we being forth more living things;
Asides the case of betrayal,
We’d be good from now till eternity,
We continue to share our pains,
And also bask in our gains,
No one is dying anytime soon,
For we control the stars even the sun and the moon,
Our gun and daggers would only be aimed and drawn at enemies.