THE SUICIDE COLLECTION

(selected poems for The Bakers of The Week submission)

1.

I’m a weed to the world,
A desert within a vegetated land.
A famine with plenty plants
of wretchedness that wreck my hope.

I’m a famine soul that
cries for rain that turn tears.
My emptiness is filled with sorrows
that beckon my heart to a state of desolate.

But, a way i have found,
A path i can see,
That will make me feel not a thing
to make this tears arid.

I will walk through this path
that will numb my huge pains.
I will bury my sorrowful soul
deep within the waves of an ocean.

Yeah,my bruised soul will
drown in a painless death.
Deep, in the wilderness of the ocean
So I shall take the fall.

©PenTalks

2.

Soulless eyes I have
Darkened soul I beget
Noticed by none, my depressive state
Suicide will get there attention, so I’ll do it
Just to see them look and listen

Tied the noose, like a tie
Hanging on the fan that cools
my father’s bald head
Pour the poison in the food
Cooked by my ma in the barn

It’s cowardly,so they say
To end this long suffering
Pain will cease
Heaven looks better
At least the sky is bright
Unlike my darkened soul

I hear the trumpet
Of Israfil
The tremble trolling up the terrible path
Of my passage

The world will have another washing day
I’ll be given attention at my burial
My depression will be given thought
My friends will feel guilty and profess their love
Even though I won’t know

©Rawbeeheart

3.

While I breathe,
I hope.

Of stretched doubt did faiths melt,
While I breathe, I hope; at morn.
In moor of dark thoughts I dwelt
To loose the hatred I had worn.

Brewed trope… Lewed hope.

Oft gazing: my joy still sealed.
Glaring gleam in gleefully gliding gloat.
My soul, bruised; my heart, killed.
Love was broken and my heartbeat tossed.

Frightful hope… Plight-pool grope.

My bed too small to love myself,
My room still seemed to think-
of chasing my huger dreams-elf,
When hatred wore white smiles to its brink.

Untold grope, beheld rope…

Ruined the dreams of pains so old,
by coddling door of toddling sun.
But, while I breathe, I hope: behold-
Fumes of misery fornicate who mourns.

This is a tightrope…
Blind plights trope.

While no breathe,
There will be no hope.

©PoetiQue

*Poems arranged in order of selection*

1. Olatunde Azeeza poem emerged as the BAKER OF THE WEEK as pronounced by the selection panel of Words Bakery Literary Family.

2. Rabiat is a 400level nursing student of university of Ilorin. She grabbed the silver prize.

3. Ahmad Usman’s (POETIQUE) poem help him emerge as the bronze winning poet.

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