Dear diary,
I'm aware I’ve spent quite some time away.
I was not surprised to see how dusty you had become.
It’s all my fault, I agree!
It’s not because I didn’t want to write poetry.
I had simply been caught up in a sort of spiraling web of insanity.
Unfortunately, exposing a much more jaded side of me,
coercively stripping me of all profundity.
Dear diary,
My speedometer reads 120 in a 100 zone.
What then is a zebra crossing when life propels you to disregard all the rules you have known?
Where the many fears of inadequacies flood your mind—your home!
If sleeplessness is a kryptonite, my sunken eyes denote the insomnia I have been facing alone.
Other Boeings seem to plane enriched landscapes and terrains.
While I remain looped, hovering these deserted savanna plains
Sigh!
Dear diary,
Not that I want to profess a lack or need.
I’m just at a crossroad with several synonymous markings.
Wondering what particular direction leads.
Many are keen-eyeing me, hoping I stumble and fall.
Like Tetteh Quarshie, the discussion is not primarily skewed towards the texture of the soil.
Rather, on whose seeds may envelope them all
I'm aware I’ve spent quite some time away.
I was not surprised to see how dusty you had become.
It’s all my fault, I agree!
It’s not because I didn’t want to write poetry.
I had simply been caught up in a sort of spiraling web of insanity.
Unfortunately, exposing a much more jaded side of me,
coercively stripping me of all profundity.
Dear diary,
My speedometer reads 120 in a 100 zone.
What then is a zebra crossing when life propels you to disregard all the rules you have known?
Where the many fears of inadequacies flood your mind—your home!
If sleeplessness is a kryptonite, my sunken eyes denote the insomnia I have been facing alone.
Other Boeings seem to plane enriched landscapes and terrains.
While I remain looped, hovering these deserted savanna plains
Sigh!
Dear diary,
Not that I want to profess a lack or need.
I’m just at a crossroad with several synonymous markings.
Wondering what particular direction leads.
Many are keen-eyeing me, hoping I stumble and fall.
Like Tetteh Quarshie, the discussion is not primarily skewed towards the texture of the soil.
Rather, on whose seeds may envelope them all
