Sunday, 4 September 2011


He asked, "Will you marry me?"
Speechlessly you could only nod you head.
But fickle men are, fickle he will be,
Now you believe your marriage is dead.
With a flick of his hand he tore you to shreds,
Leaving you in a crying mess.
To another girl his eyes have led,
And it's she whom he longs to caress.
Your eyes turn out unto the crowd,
You see nothing extraordinary.
But there is one girl there, shouting out loud,
Please, please, I can help you be.
Will you let me help you heal?
She asks, hands out and pleading.
But it's too painful, your mind reels.
And her face, it seems misleading.
I'll be your guide no matter what might come.
Please, Queen, trust me.
May it be maths equations or chemical sums,
Please, please, I can help you be.


  1. BB. When I look at you, when I look at each of you, I see greatness and extrodinary peole who I love.
    Thank you for you gift of this poem and even more so for your friendship!
    *hugd her*