Poetic Imaginations

The conjuring of sorrow

the twilight, a bruise on the sky,
flickers of gold in the blood-red tide,
its heavy breath, a final, soft sigh,
the sky crumbles where shadows reside.

the sun has set, softly ceding to a night
drenched in sorrow, and rivers of tears,
carving their path in the marrow of my delight,
and aching from the weight of memories.

the night crawls slow, on its aching feet,
shrouding the earth, with its grand shade
the stars blink out in a hushed heartbeat,
where the moon drowns, and the light fades.

a chill so deep it sinks through my bones,
its fingers like claws, they scrape at my chest,
the darkness presses, and I am alone,
wishing for light upon this dark upheaval.

fingers of depression twist tight around my neck.
as silence swells, and the hours bleed thin,
and my heart, a wild drum, beating
against the bars of my ribcage.

Lundi Ncuthu

i'm not a praying poet

dear God, i'm not a praying poet,
i'm a wretched soul, i roam alone.
i wander through the darkest twilight,
Where shadows twist and sigh and moan.

my pen, it bleeds with sorrow’s ink,
yet no sweet prayer escapes my lips.
the heavens seem so far from here,
my heart adrift on cursed ships.

i seek not light, nor grace divine,
but haunt the tombs where silence waits.
the stars are dim, their whispers cold,
as death walks gently through the gates.

Oh God, my hands are stained with dread,
for who am i to plead and beg?
a poet's heart is bound in chains,
yet none can hear my muted pledge.

No hymns to you, no prayers i raise,
Only the weight of midnight’s woe.
In fractured dreams, i dare not pray,
For fear my voice isn't worthy enough.

Yet in the dark, i feel you're out of reach,
A shadow’s touch, so near, yet unreached.
And though I tremble at your name,
My trembling heart has never believed.

Lundi Ncuthu
January 30, 2025

Depression Loves to Party Too

she walks in with her velvet eyes,
a grin stretched thin, a hollow prize.
the room exhales, and so do I,
as shadows leap and lights comply.

her laughter spills, a broken song,
a tune that’s never right, too long.
she dances close, then drifts away,
like smoke that chokes the light of day.

the mirrors hum, a quiet scream,
reflecting every shattered dream.
she spins in circles, smooth and slow,
a dance of death, and no one knows.

she claims the night with quiet hands,
her touch a weight no one withstands.
With every laugh, a breath is lost,
she drinks and drinks but never sleeps.

her feast of hearts, her poisoned wine,
she swirls it deep, a twisted sign.
and when the crowd has had enough,
she whispers, “Stay, the night is still young.”

Lundi Ncuthu
Sun, 26 jan 19:46

Birds of sorrow

in the shadows of dusk;
the crows caw incessantly;
a mournful symphony echoing
through the barren land.
the ravens; with their piercing eyes
watch from above;
a reminder of lost hopes
and broken dreams.

a nightingale's sweet melody
is replaced by a haunting wail;
a melancholic tune that speaks of pain;
the owl hoots in the darkness of night
a solitary figure of grief and sorrow;
it's wide eyes reflecting terror
the swallows; once symbols of hope;
now carry tales of despair
tainted by the weight of sorrow.

the seagulls cry out in anguish
their mourning cries filling the air;
the birds of sorrow flock together
in somber harmony; their cries
merging into a melancholic chorus;
a haunting melody that lingers;
in the shadows of dusk.

~Lundi Ncuthu