The Obama Craze…

I might understand the reason why every Kenyan wants to be associated with the American presidential candidate Barrack Obama,but i do not understand why it is the poor Kenyans seem to carry around this notion that he will do something for the country.

If the man does win the elections ( and i hope he does), he will stand and help the people who stood in those long queues and voted for him! Why would he decide to put Kenya in next year’s financial budget for America???? He has enough on his plate as it is and I am sure that Kenya is the furthest thing on his mind at the moment.

Today i watched in growing horror as Kisumu residents ‘voted’ for Obama in the streets. I have got one question. Did these people have no jobs to tend to? I appreciate that the gesture was meant to be seen as a form of support for the guy but i seriously think that this was taking things a bit too far. Kenyans need to prioritize! Yes, watch the polls from home as hundreds of thousands of people are doing worldwide, pray for him, just don’t leave your jobs and go queue in lines to ‘vote’!!!!!! It’s crazy!!

I know we should be proud of the fact that a black man who has his roots in the country is the possible winner to the American Presidential seat but don’t you think its time we worked more on our own problems and stopped concentrating on other peoples??

He might be ours in terms of roots, but he is theirs in terms of home. And whether we like it or not, this country, Kenya, will always come second to America. Why don’t we all go back to our places of work and stop day dreaming about the first black man with a Kenyan background as the next President of the United States of America?

The Promise…

I have a confession to make: my people, I have lied to you. Like a snake that stealthily approaches, i looked for the weakest link and used it to manipulate you.  I doctored all your thoughts knowingly, made promises to you that I knew would get me elected into parliament. With no apologies, I travelled from the dark lit paths into stardom and fortune. I never cared for you. Don’t you see? All I had in mind was me…myself and I !!!!

I can not trade all those years for anything else. I have met a lot of important people, dined with the Presidents of countries all over the world, handled billions of shillings and never once, got enough of what i got. I was like a flood that was never satisfied with taking the lives of hundreds of people, like a hurricane that kept blowing till there was nothing left of the shambles that were once homes of people. Do not cry for me, I have led the life I curved out for myself.

I stole millions of shillings from the government offices and somehow, it was always overlooked. And those roads I said I would fix in our constituency…Huh!!!!! I had businesses to build!!!! Vacations to go for; my children to educate and feed, my wife to sustain, my mistress to please and my ego  to soothe. I am selfish, I know, …and so i came back for more votes. See, the first five years were not enough to make me as rich as I wanted to be, and so I devised a plan. I built you the school you always wanted near home in the last year of my term, that was my pass into parliament for the second term running.

Was it of any surprise to you that I won by a landslide???? Why would it??? You voted for me, the one who ‘tries so hard to fulfill his promises’ you said of me. I was back in my element, a Minister even, and I forgot you. The moment I put my foot into the building, I become money’s best friend, the son to evil and enemy to good.

And so here I lay, life  slowly seeping away from the man I have become. Perhaps justice has been served at last. See, I made a promise to you once my people, Remember? I said that if I ever made you unhappy or angry with me, you would not have to bare with my prescence anymore. Even Wakonyo, My youngest daugher remembers it. This is the one promise I can keep, my people…for my empty promises have led me to this dark and torturous world that sees no light. This is the one promise that will set you and I free… for with this promise, I shall not have to face your wrath.

Hurry Home…

…I stand outside my door waiting…hoping you get here safe and sound. In my mind’s eye, i see you, just the way you were before you left. The warmth in your eyes, the sweet embrace we once shared, the soft raindrop kisses…we had it good old friend, didn’t we?

What i do not understand is what happened to us…all of a sudden, i cannot decipher your emotions. You have become an enigma. Like a stone that gives back no expression, that has been robbed off all speech, sight and hearing…but we both know, don’t we? I am the one who pushed you away.

You do remember the times we shared, right? Under that tall Mugumo tree staring out to the stretch of breathtakingly beautiful land…hearing the rippling waters of the river below us…hearing the chirping of birds singing on the sacred tree…feeling the soft cushion of the grass at our feet, hearing the songs that were carried in the wind that blew on our faces…Hurry home…

I have missed you…I crave for you in my deepest slumber. Raise me from this mountain of despair i have sunk into. Reach for me, old friend, for i have failed you. Rescue me this one time, for you, for me…for us. Surround me…engulf me…teach me once more…please hurry…come back to the nest i destroyed with my selfish acts.

You shall emerge the trouncing hero in all this. For I had my chance and like a fool,I ruined it. I need you..hurry home; I beseech you, and this time stay…keep me company…let us rise like the tidal waves in the sea and conquer…let us reign in the face of all worth defying. For Peace, my old friend, we need each other. Hurry home…so that we may have a chance at living once more.

Friend…

Take a look at me
Really look at me, my FRIEND
Do you remember me?
Or do you pretend not to

Let me help you remember
Last night you walked with me
Told me of your secrets, or were they lies
And I listened, filled with pity for the person you once were

So, my FRIEND today we meet
And you know me not
Do you not really remember the much we shared?
The dreams we built deep into the night

I thought that we were good FRIENDS after last night
Today I tell you there is a creation
A creation we both helped create and you look at me paler than a ghost
Is it so hard to believe after the good FRIENDS we became last night?

Well, our creation has become my creation
Has become mine and someone else’s
I can take a hint my FRIEND
After all, some plants grow and some do not; this one will not

Wrong…

Should you find me

With a bleak look in my eyes

Staring out into the world

Ask not what is wrong

Should you see me

With tears trickling down my face

Caring not of the image I print in the face of my people

Ask not what is wrong

Should you meet me

Speechless as I look into the eyes of the children

Looking sad than they are

Ask not what is wrong

What is wrong, you ask

Wrong is the ashes you have made of our homes

Wrong is the orphans you have made of our children

Wrong is the war you have created on our people

For yesterday

We laughed together

We ate together

We cried together…Wrong

Wrong is what we have now become

Hush…

Hush, they said

Your voice will drive us to the pits

Your words will anger our superiors

For they slice deep into our hearts

For they are the truth we should speak not

And so I spoke not

Instead, I stood back and watched

The pain etched in the women’s faces

The bleak future in the men’s eyes

I heard the laughter in their voice as they did what they knew to do best

And still I spoke not

Until they killed our children

Until there was nothing to live for anymore

And when I did speak,

They gorged my eyes out

They tore at my flesh

Tattering my clothes in the process

They whipped me till my skin was tender to the touch

Nobody lifted a finger to stop them

For they were the superiors and I was nothing

Just a voice

In the Silence…

…Sleep eludes me at the most inappropriate times… I find myself in the throes of a very involving dream one minute, and then the next I jackknife upright so wide awake it feels like someone gave me a shot of caffeine…it is scary I must tell you, to run into someone at 2am in the morning…My Mother can attest to that…But I find that in the silence…with many of the cricket noises dead in the still night…and the wind barely heard…I can feel the touch of Heaven…I can hear every breath my small sister will take in the room next to mine…I will hear the bed creak under the weight it supports as a human body turns and tosses in sleep…The snore..the grunt as flesh meets flesh…but if I listen harder, blocking the world’s interference…I can hear music in the flow of my blood….the rhythm in the beating of my heart… the dance in the twitching of my feet…..I can hear heaven…in the  voices that lull me to sleep…In the silence, I can taste heaven…In the rich fields that go on for endless miles and juicy fruits that fall in my path…the streams that flow noiselessly  into a waterfall that meets a river filled with roses…White roses surrounded by lillies and violets…Barefoot, I smile…My feet massaged…caressed by the soft sand under it…Earth…Mother Earth…she who birthed me…she who moulded me…sculptured me…HE who breathed life into Me… I smile…As my eyes close…shut…delving into this world…I dance…slow…fast…I whirl….I turn….I ran…I roll…wrapping earth around me…my spirit soaring…free…unwary…unburdened…undistrubed…free…I remain vulnerable…innocent…untouched…The daylight streams through in the morning light…My eyes open, dioriented at the unwelcome invasion… the world calling…harsh…corrupt…I throw the covers back and look through my window…the sky is dark… forbidding …the streets full of people…the alleys crowded…the air polluted…I take a deep breathe…looking for the silence that soothes me in the still of the night…for that one moment ofquiet  peace…I smile…Tonight…tonight I will find that peace again…in the Silence….

Moving Out…

I have to move. If someone ever told me that I would one day be all alone…in my house by myself in the Big City…joining the millions of Kenyans who have to fend for themselves…I would have called you out…simply for being a liar…for being the child of the devil …Maybe I should start at the very beginning…

Long ago…some twenty two years ago…at the Mathari Hospital… a little baby girl was born…She was named…Maureen…Bitterness of the Sea…I am told the name means…Brown…full of life…a baby girl who hated food… A little girl whose nickname became Yokozuna…though today I see no resemblance of that….

My parents were not and still aren’t rich…not in the very sense of the word…But they made sure I never lacked…and so I got spoilt rotten…Got used to having people around though I do not say much among strangers…I prefer to blend with the wall…

Somewhere along the way…in the boarding school with the Sisters and High School with the all –so- strict and upright Miss Wahome…(My former head teacher who I love Dearly)…I developed a non- flexibility…a routine…a resistance to change characteristic if you may call it that….Fast forward and years later…here I am…Facing my inevitable move…After years of getting used to things done for me, I have to learn to depend on Me…Don’t get me wrong…I am very Independent…Just that when it comes to the cooking…the washing…the living alone…I am not too enthusiastic about it…But who knows where this new path will lead? Why Am I so resistant to change? Just what am I scared of? After all, I see myself as a writer…and writers are isolated creatures…So off I am…perhaps I should drum up new fervor…for this Inevitable Move…And hopefully get sucked into a whole new world of Self Discovery:-)

Days of old…

I miss the days of old…days in which twenty grandchildren sat at the feet of grandmother in her smoke filled hut…as she roasted bananas in the naked fire…telling the tales of a faraway land in a different time…tales of ogres who disguised themselves as handsome men…men with no butt cracks…remember those tales? I miss the childhood innocence…of making figures on fire lit walls as we sang …giggling the night away with gleeful abandon…

…There was no self-consciousness of the smoke trapped in our nappy hair…of the clothes decorated with patches of dirt that came from sitting on the earth floor…I miss the days we used to fetch water at the stream down the hill…hehe…Of buckets falling….soaking through our garments…and repeating the trip until the water tanks at grandmother’s homestead were full…rewarded with a piece of sugarcane…all that work for a piece of sugar cane…tsk tsk…I miss the simplicity of it all…

The tree climbing…with the disregard of gender…the Picking of coffee…and the feeling of accomplishment to having completed such a daunting task…I miss the slow paced life…days I would stop on the middle of the road to look up at the skies…Why are the skies blue mummy? Why do the clouds look like they are moving? What is the velocity of the wind? Can it carry me? Why can I fly? Why don’t I have wings? Why am I black Mummy? Oh look, a bird!!! Ah, pure bliss…

…and then there is the fact that it was all green…so beautiful…just like in the animated movies …The air…so unspoiled by industries and numerous vehicles on the roads…I miss the days of no worries…days I would run down the hill with the dress blowing in the wind…I suppose I had seen too much of the Sound of Music…

I miss days of old when we could all sit around the Black and White Samsung…anxiously waiting for a wrestling match on a Monday evening…Yokozuna, remember him? A man skilled with sitting at wrestlers chests, crushing their poor bones…I always wondered what those men took before going into the ring with him…I still cring at the thought of such matches…not forgetting grandmother’s exclamations every time…’Ngai, Nioragwo’ “God! He has been killed’ It was comical…Especially since she always let out a bloodcurdling scream after she saw the man she thought dead stand and limp away…

Ah…the memories of the days of old almost go up in smoke with the sky scrapers, the traffic jams…the horrible smells…the tap water…the ignorance of the young generation…the clubs…the lack of a cultural identity…the English…the English…the English…the  days of old are unrivaled…I wonder what the next generation will think of this what will be their days of old…

The NewsRoom…

Today I choose to stand by the Video Cassette Recorder and report on the newsroom…of Ladies with high heels and matching handbags…of a blend of perfumes that drift across the well ventilated room…of men striding in…with an air of self importance…a hand pocketed… the manly handshake…the manly nod…men who give ladies a warm hug…a gentle handshake…the smell of mint…perhaps masking the cigarette smell… masking a breakfast that included garlic and eggs …or perhaps to keep the mouth busy…I choose to Stand by the Video Cassette Recorder  and speak of the impeccably dressed…Almost Perfect…Flawless…Effortless…of the gripping boredom that sometimes smothers the reporter’s mind….one desperate to get a good story…to write a good story …of the bosses, always beating a deadline…always determined to get the best out of a day…determined to get something worth making a Headline…of the easy going relationships…oh, but there are fights…some that draw blood on the subconscious…it is an office after all…people will create their own form of war…their own form of excitement…a Hitler here, a Martin Luther there, A Kibaki here, a Raila there, a  Samuel Wanjiru here, a Teresia Njeri there…and of course there is a Hannah Wanjiru…hehe…I kid not…I choose to Stand by the Video Cassette Recorder and tell of the Camera Men…those who hold the tools of  their trade close to their heart…owe unto the reporter who dares touch the precious gem without their permission…it is sacred…it is like a shrine, only mobile…one cannot share a wife…the newsroom reminds me of a character in the movie ‘Talk to me’ Petey Greene played by Don Cheadle. His character, Petey Greene was a set of contradictions…he was a real-life D.C. street hustler who became a local media star in the 1960s and ’70s. He never lied to anyone about his background…always said ‘I am nothing but a con and a thief…’ he told it like it is on radio, but was an alcoholic, a womanizer…a man whose personal life was suffering…his most memorable quote and my favorite was ‘I’ll tell it to the hot, I’ll tell it to the cold. I’ll tell it to the young, I’ll tell it to the old. I don’t want no laughin’, I don’t want no cryin’, and most of all, no signifyin’. Ah Petey Greene is  the Newsroom…that Cigar in his mouth, that pool stick in his hand…and the Newsroom is Petey Greene…So much drama, so much professionalism…so much perfection…so when an Anchor stands by the Video Cassette Recorder tonight…know with a certainty, that the blend of characters in the newsroom, the remarkable, the shocking, the revolting…gave you a bulletin that is worth  your money…because…honey…professionalism sells…and the personal battles take a back seat as we celebrate the product we create today…then tomorrow…we will do it all over again…only this time…strive to beat what we gave last …because after all…we are only as good as yesterday…I call it P-Town…

 

Faces of My package…

His name is Logic, The one with all reason…all the  common sense.  A bit annoying, I must add. I want to get a pair of shoes. Why? He will ask. Well, because I want a new color and they will make me feel better. I respond. You cannot get a pair of shoes just because you feel like it, there has to be a plan, a budget, a reason why you have to get the pair of shoes. He answers. There has to be enough space on your shoe rack (Note: Not a closet) to handle another pair of shoes. Logic is so restrictive, almost uptight….he  has a reason for every penny spent, every car ride, every handshake, every person he meets…even the choice of newspaper…I do not read the People, he says, because the people is not the kind of name I would call a newspaper…no apologies…just well…a bit of judgment in his logic? He has an account for everything, an explanation for why a 30million shilling Mercedes will be suffer the same fate on Kenyan roads as a one million shilling worth Mercedes…The car make is the same…he says…why not build a house with the twenty nine million difference? Hmm?

His name is Truth. And boy does he preach it! He will tell you that you look horrible when you do look horrible…okay …maybe terrible…he has no time for pleasantries…no time to be subtle about things….for him, a fact is just that…a fact…Take it or leave it…Once a lady threatened to kill herself in his house…he turned and told her she was free to do whatever she wanted…die, live…just as long as it wasn’t in his house…well, I guess that is truth served cold…

His name is Arrogance…his superiority….his conceit…his egotism…his pride…And why not? His brand is in the things he touches…his influence felt in the offices he visits…They all know his name…Recognize its importance…They all know how hard he worked to get here…they all know his not so humble beginnings…that class he carried even when he had nothing to his name….

His name is Gentleman…he opens the car door, leads the lady by the hand…holds her by the waist and steers her in the direction they are both headed…a man who will pull her chair…and wont sit until she has sat…he will order for a glass of Champagne…listen to her go on and on about her family, that bitch from work, her bad habits…listen to her shrill laugh and think it beautiful…. And when he has driven her home and walked her to her doorstep, he will kiss the back of her hand…say he had a lovely evening….make another date and leave her to dream about him….a gentleman…but calculating, isn’t he?

His name is Romance…he capitalizes on intimacy…a candlelit dinner for two at a jazz club…preferably at a table at the corner….he holds the Lady’s hand…leans in to whisper in her ear to share a joke…or to tell her how lovely she looks…he looks deep into her eyes…not enough to make her uncomfortable, but with just the right amount of intensity, to convey his feelings…no matter how slight…she gets it…she will blush…she will giggle…he will peck her cheek…squeeze her hand…and when the timing is right, claim a dance…Jazz….with the bass…Jazz with the acoustic…Jazz with the Keys…Jazz with the saxophone…Jazz with the sultry voice accompanying the instruments…and as they dance he plucks at her heart strings…drawing her deeper into his world…his life with his words…words that carry intimate meanings…

His name is Passion… He leaves the Lady with an obsession…he leaves her infatuated…with a kind of craze that surrounds him…that surrounds Passion…an excitement…a fervor…an ardor…she will see him tomorrow…she will see him in the following days with a zeal…she cannot stop herself…cannot hold herself in check…No sir, she will see him tomorrow, The Logic, The Truth, The Arrogance, The Gentleman, The Romance…The passion…She will hope to marry him…He who branded her with his All…. He who is Her Man…

Reads…

Now that the writing bug has caught up with me again…I have a lot of things to say…boy…do I have a lot of things to unload!!! I have been reading a number of blogs…for example I have read from people who see nothing good with the Kenyan Media…the same people whose arguments sound like a rusty gong…I have no problem with criticism…no sir, I am all for constructive criticism and all that s***t…but the buggers should get their facts right before posting their articles on social media…it really is annoying…logging on to a site in the morning to read what one hopes will be a refreshing read only to find bags of malodorous garbage…it is not good for digestion I assure you…especially when you have had eggs in the morning! It is like buying the daily nation and instead find they traded it for the People!

I know it is challenging to find new material to write about daily, hell, it took me a year to finally write again (I did explain it in the previous article)…but that in no way gives you the right to assault us with your lack of creativity…it reminds me of the first time I ever tried to make fish…a harrowing experience I must add …I was sixteen years old, and back then Fish was my thing…I would go to the market place and look for the biggest Tilapia fish they could spare…the collective smell of the delicacy at the market place was enough to give me a bad case of nasal damage but a girl had to have her fish…and so on this bright day I took it upon myself to see it cooked….I had seen mother prepare it a dozen times…I was a brilliant observer, a good student…nothing could go wrong…it was the self confidence I suppose, that resulted to the end result that came out  …well…fishy…I need not mention the fact that it ended up on the walls, kitchen mat, in my hair, face and on my clothes for you to know that it was a complete disaster…the house reeked for two weeks!! Two weeks of being constantly reminded of a venture that ended up in the gutter.

My family had a good laugh…but it left a ghastly taste in my mouth…literally…I never went near fish again…the experience was ruined for me…So why do I read the blog, you might ask…simple…I read it to feed my curiosity…to see what will they say today that is completely out of place, that is so absurd… to see what they will say that will be so annoying that I will find inspiration to write my own piece…so I suppose we have an awkward relationship, that Blog and I …that Fish and I…

And then I have read from a writer who has made me dream of smoky silky nights in the Caribbean…made me dream of wine glasses and Jacuzzi s…of scented candles and rose petals…of Jazz and Opera…of the Fox trot and the Tango…A writer who unknowingly feeds the siren in me…who awakes my intellect…the Voice, I call him…the voice of consciousness…a voice rich in bass… the voice of reason…authoritative…the voice of romance…gentle…it reminds me of the first time I ever kissed a man… No displeasure…just a whole world of possibilities…of discovering a different feel…a different sensation…a different tune to the words…to the music…strange isn’t it, that the planet of lexis can be so different…I suppose we have a healthy relationship, that Voice and I…that Kiss and I…

There is a writer who makes me wonder of the secrets of the night…of the meaning behind words…of the creatures in the shadows…makes me wonder to what tune the trees are dancing to…to what words do the leaves flutter…to what flow does the water rock…makes me question a symphony…She reminds me of the first time I ever sang…a beautiful melody… filled with genuine emotion…that carried tears…that carried hunger…that carried agony…that carried  a longing…I call her Music…a gentle combination of notes ending in a shuttering crescendo…a striking finale that calls for an encore…that leaves one clutching at their chest…holding back the silver tears that threaten to fall and soak a beautiful gown…I suppose we have a loving relationship…Music and I…

I believe they all draw emotion… the disparity in how they say it…making me have different relationships within me…the assembly of words…the mating of voices…the splendor in the paradox …the hating, the loving, the disunity, the admiration, the envy… the Fish…the Voice…the Music…all in Me…

Word…

It has been a while since I wrote…I may choose to give a million excuses as to why I have not written in over a year …I suppose it is a disgrace to other writers…some who will point fingers and go ‘How dare you?!’ Well, I dared not write…I dared not write because for over a year, my soul did not feel right…I am sure you know what I am talking about, One day you are filled with a burning need , an intensity, a consuming fire to put your thoughts on paper, and the next…nothing…not an iota of feeling, not even a nudge deep inside that tells you to do something about the empty pit your writing has turned into….it is sad you know, for a person of so many words to be trapped in a feeling of numbness…I dared not right because hatred had no place in my life…yes I said it…I draw my words from feelings…I draw from pain, I draw from anger, I draw from loneliness, a loathing so deep within me….I draw from Love, from the tears on my pillow, from the sob caught in my throat, from the words trapped under my tongue…I draw from the truth… a lie that is weaved to sound like the truth, a need to stand in my own well deserved spotlight…but most of all, I draw from helplessness..yes…the knowledge that I cannot change the course of destiny… that I a mere mortal cannot control life or death, I can only embrace it…Accept it…Live it…Marry the ideas in my head…wait patiently in line until fate deals me a hand…until the gods  throw a dice and decide the path my life must take…It is kind of twisted I know…I dared not write because …well…I just could not write…I could not write because there was a disconnect between the passionate words in my brain and the gentle caress on my keys as my fingers tapped at my keys…I could not write  because I had lost my best friend, my lover, …I lost the soft words spoken in my ear, the soft laughter, the dreamy look in my eyes… the wicked touch …the heightened temperature, the racing heart beat…A wordy world…Wordplay…I could not write because because my imagination could not dream up enough of a song, a touch, a kiss….I could not write because there was a wall, that prevented any kind of creativity…any form of criticism…there was no pleasure that comes from making love to the words in your thoughts, no thrill from the feeling of near satisfaction…no anticipation that comes from the unknown…no exhilaration that comes with the climax…nothing…Just a whole world of Boredom…

Charmed….

I never was a believer for charm. In fact, I brushed the whole thing away with little more than a snobbish snort whenever sombody decided to bring the subject up. See, I was pretty sure that anything that presented itself as charm was nothing but a lie. A dreadful lie for that matter. Perhaps I over reacted then but there was simply nothing I could do about it. Until that particular incident…

I was walking in the play ground one beautiful Sunday afternoon totally indifferent to what was going on around me. The children’s happy  noises filled with screams and laughter barely registered as I walked alone, far apart from the crowd. See, I was more happy brooding alone. Or I thought I was, Until I saw him. And what a sight he was!

He was half caked in dust as he tried to reach the ball which had fallen under one of the merry-go rounds. The strain was apparent in the way his shoes dug in the ground and in the way his hand stretched and his fingers inching frustratingly away from the ball. Nobody seemed to notice his predicament. My feet moved aganist my will and before I knew it, I was kneeling beside him, picking the ball. As he turned, I experienced a moment of panic which was quickly quenched by the one smile he flashed. In his mouth were perfect white teeth;on his right cheek, a charming dimple.

His face flushed from the afternoon heat, he took my hand and led me to the field for a game of soccer. As I looked down and smiled at him, I realised one thing; I had been charmed by a five year old. And what a Charmer!

In The Shadows

They said that safety comes with belief , the lack of it caused by misbelief. Yet as I ponder this statement, I cannot help but pause in my path. The midnight countryside air clear of the pollution that normally carpets the City Centres drifts to my nostrils and as I deeply inhale, comes a sudden thought in my head.

Heart pounding, I quickly turn around to see a cat run sillohueted in the shadows. Calming a little, I continue with my midnight stroll, eyes drawn to what I left behind when I chose City Life…by default. Distracted, I walk towards a tree and sit underneath. There In the Shadows, I am free to dream, to see all that the naked eye can see…and only there can I laugh or cry in abandon….

There In the Shadows, I find the false sense of security …yet these same shadows, could be my ruin…My father, My robber, My Peace, My tormentor, My Pride, My shame….

In the Shadows, one thing is for sure…Nothing ever is the same again…For In the Shadows, there is a certain unconceivable change.

Empty Promises…

You said you would be here

To help me drown my sorrows

To help me collect the pieces my life has become

To help me wear my shame like a crown

You said you would dry my tears

You would help me see that no sin was unforgivable

You would see me through my dark times

You would be my knight in shinning armor

For the blinders I wore

I believed you

Hang onto every word you said

And so I waited; waited for my Saviour

Patience, I said to myself…

It turned to self-pity

I had made a fool of myself

For loving such an ingrate