Fickle image he began being
Fickle until real enough to be real
No longer born from his mother
That bore him, the mind and
His father that took pride in
All that he did for as long as
It were him, the immigration
Blessed cursed wishes by the parented
Soon it dawned on them
How ungrateful they were
Full of pride they made him and
Full of pride he became, not
Their pride as hoped.
Image of an imagination
And of mind he ceased to be
But faded memory he now as
As real as he prided
He drove her to insanity
Believing he was but a soulmate of her
As well as he a mistress to her world
Is as well as he forgot he be only
From an imagination, making her forget
Beckoning her, now to find him
About the Creator
BlacQ Tales Bopape
I am an author. Inlove with the magic in words.
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I AM
This is not who I thought I would be. Before my family was captured and forced into slavery, I had aspirations of becoming a wealthy business owner or possibly a scholar and philosopher. Becoming a warrior was the furthest thing from my mind. Unfortunately, our Roman conquerors had other plans.
By Mark Gagnon4 days ago in Fiction
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