Loading...

The Conflict with Concession

The Conflict with Concession

My Kingdom

I have tied a knot at the end of each and every thought of you, with each word cast from my tongue I keep tossing each knot to your direction with the hope of catching your attention, even if it be a note that fell off your giggle when you were but a bit jolly yester night, or a slight glance that got caught by a broken window by a random ally when you turned to note a voice calling your name. I hope to rope it in and own it, embrace it and call it my own. Do you still think of...? in my absence, My crown, do you miss me?

It seems I need to readjust my aim; I missed your attention again. I missed you. I miss you.
Perhaps my queries should not be that of missing but that of finding. Perhaps I should be asking if you ever find me. Do you My Crown? Do you ever find me? In the maze of your thoughts, do you ever find me searching for that thought that tugs and pulls at your hypothalamus, spilling your oxytocin and stretching your lips to form that perfect upturned rainbow upon your countenance? Do you ever find me My Crown? Do you?

They have become a hangman's noose around my neck, thoughts of you; Your absence my hangman. You left me hanging. They have become unpleasant, still more pleasant than any pleasant thought I've ever had in the present, but unpleasant nonetheless. Find me. Free me. Let me to Love. Let me to my Love. Let me to you. No. Rather not. Let me to my thoughts of you. There I am with you; never without you. If I am ever to be without you, please let me to my peril My Crown.

Let me be.

Yours,
Your King

Your Review

RATING

1111 VIEWS
0 Likes

Share To

Vus’umuzi Phakathi

Vus’umuzi Phakathi

YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
To Who It May Concern Read by Modise Sekgothe

To Who It May Concern Read by Modise Sekgothe

They have glued flat my tongue against the roof of my mouth, my words; i had attempted to store them beneath it, no -- rather -- these trifling words. Now, in lieu of my handicap, if it be not at all troublesome to you, may you please burden yourself with but a few letters thereof, and when you see Her, in Her ears arrange them gently.

Choirs of Hours Read by Richard Welch

Choirs of Hours Read by Richard Welch

When choirs of hours croon us as song, / Heave with each note, hold fast to each second, / Unchain your rapture let it breathe along / To each calm, storm, and all that love beckoned; / Let not your flame be lulled by melody’s gust,

REVIEW: Pulitzer Award Winning Play, RUINED

REVIEW: Pulitzer Award Winning Play, RUINED

For over two decades the Democratic Republic of Congo has seemingly been deemed ruined. Ravaged and torn by what appears to be perennial war and disease to its populace, it has become a land that anyone who sees no means of profiteering fears or flees.

comments
Go to TOP