Waking


I’m waking up again
I used to write mornings till I grew too cocky to crow at dawn
The sentences without blemish I’d pen to grow
I stopped for some reason I can’t fathom
I guess I wanted more style, or fact driven
I chased earnings becoming more consequential
I feel the reign coming, thought clouds from deep within evaporate into bare paper

I’m waking up again.
A flood alarm,
The flood I am, it’s not my time but I can’t wait.
Horns in hand, my head grows obligatory weight
Alcohol isn’t the only thing I drink responsibly

My aunt Chi told to watch out;
That when my eyes are too much,
I’m getting selfish
And so I close my eyes when whenever I write
It takes a toll on my poetry, and my pride too.

Or should I say “used to?”
I’m waking…

The Niel Quchi
(c) 2020

Clothes of an Idea

The corpse of an idea
A zombie in my mind
I aim far a head
My time slips by as I bid time
Calculating the different ways to save time
Constantly telling myself how I should be
chaste
While I think off the skirts that I could’ve
chased
Its like I let my potential just waste
While growing, adding, learning at no haste

Write, hand, write for you were made to.
My life feels like a movie part too.
I look to Jesus,
So when I’m down, I know I’m up next.

The Niel
© 2019