Poeticous Logo
es
English Español Français Italiano
Wil Kavi

Wil Kavi

The secret

Come out,
come out,
wherever you are.
I know you’re in here.
You dirty little secret.
 
Nibbling and munching away
at the edges of my soul;
like some voracious parasite
smart enough to know
I must stay alive,
or it will surely die.

Otras obras de Wil Kavi...
No way out but in

Been wasting away in this hovel for too many days to count; wishing, hoping, scheming, sometimes even praying, for any way to get out.
Whispers

While in repose, still and silent, it is not nothing that I hear. Subtle whispers
 2
Unspoken creed

What is this code that we agree up… but dare not ever speak in words ? That mysterious unspoken-ness looming where we choose to gather. It’s sure we must be seen to know
 1
To the deep

Clawing away. It’s dark here, chill and dank. Can’t stop now. Can’t stop ever.
 1
The next contender

There’s a furious raging mob out beyond the temple walls; howling with a lust for murder of the next contender for their cr… It's more to do with feral instinc…
The least of us

Hello, can you see me here? Please, might you stop awhile. I am the one you pass by daily as you hurry homeward bound. I am that one who’s least of us.
Step right up

I hide here behind a genuine misbelief that I am special, I am different I and only I
My love is true

My love for you is true, though we have never met. I will not lie to you. I will not steal from you. I will not con or cheat you.
The quiet place

I am your greatest grandmother calling softly on the ocean winds. I was never lost to you forever, only swallowed by the other half o… Come down with me to the quiet pla…
Between these lines

Are you the one I have no words f… Are you the one who seeks the space between these lines? I used to think I’d know you inst… Now I don’t know anything at all.
 1
Listen

Listen. There it is. The hum of perfect silence at the centre of all that is, and isn’t.
It did not happen

I am seven years old. My brother is ten. The beating was brutal. My brother is recovering conscious… I believed he was dead.
Time

Time wears away at me, like water on a stone, oh, so slowly, but inevitably, drop by drop,
Not a poem

Not a poem. I hurt; like a Frankenstein monster. Iron fist. Unrelenting.
G-r-r-r-r

That cranky old mongrel hound cooped up down the alley; he ain’t got no teeth no more but he still knows how to snarl. he gets them young pups all worked…
 3



Arriba