Tlou Romeo

Tlou Romeo Poems

Birthed into igniting flames of poverty, my fade was not much. Breast fed the scares of struggle, I was bound to speak language of ubiquitous freedom.
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Emotions spilled, I have fallen for the love that loved before. As contend as a guitar of love song, a hero was needed. The beginning of love story, the vision was as clear as she held a hand over her shoulder to shield the wounds of lust.
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Staring at a broken mirror, at the background I hear the genre of a love guitar, as I recognise the wrinkles of lust on my skin. Face of youth, a habitat for love tears. A swerve my feet to right and stamp it, it's a command. I feel the sweat dripping down my
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That thing, that kept wanting more of us I kept
close within my heart. Never have I taken in mind the change in
body temperature but felt the coldness being distanced with
love. All black, then I knew the feeling of mourning for love.
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In the house of mirrors, I spotted a grey hair, then came the equivalent saparateness. I never took notice, the effect lust had on youth's skin. Stained with love thoughts, the hands that took feelings to emotions, much I over looked haughtily the sound of
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Cursed by tears of she, I held in one hand a rose to resemble the theme of new love. Chained by diamond flashes on my wrist, the time taken to put together the puzzle of a broken heart stunned vulnerable tearing eyes.
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I was gonna confess all emotions till i came across an addictive feeling of HATE... Now I just repent with a rocky heart. Preachers, preach forgiveness but I get lost in its pronunciation.
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I summoned guilt upon the face of enemies, as they gather their thoughts of my failure. Forgiveness came to mind equally positioned with mock, but I chose to surrender.
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The Best Poem Of Tlou Romeo

Umbilical Cord

Birthed into igniting flames of poverty, my fade was not much. Breast fed the scares of struggle, I was bound to speak language of ubiquitous freedom. Umbilical cord, though the parting of Bhiko's and Gandhi was known, it pained me to count ours. As I open my mouth, not only do I inhale the cries of freedom seekers, but the appealing gauge grass silently mock the imitated struggle of youth adopting to rainbow nation. I bit my tongue, trying to convey the forced language, well spoked by those who remembered the soldiers not the war. Had this been a dream, I dreamt casualties in war, thou the parting of us. I never understood the colour on my skin, but never took grunted the portrayed images in the labour room. Umbilical cord, the medium of love to vein, I relate to emotions conveyed on the faces of ones titled poor.

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