My King Poem by Thabitha Marakalala

He may not come from a perfect home
In broken faces, worn out heart he roam
Peace he seek
Hear his silence speak
Tears never make it to his cheek
But this cold world always calls him weak

His life has no light
Even in dreams he has to fight
Call him man I call him the warrior knight
With deep scars on his skin
He never forgets to breath in
Giving up is not in him

Everyday struggles
He never bleats even if it doubles
the night counts his tears
When the sun comes up there's no room for fears
Though the road seems so long
His heart is forever strong
Well dresses in sorrows
He always hope for better tomorrows

Swag is for boys
Pride is for goons
My king needs no label
To describe his title
He might have nothing
To the rising Sun he is everything
His incomparable
His unmistakable

My king
Is Black and bold
His heart can never be sold
His worth more than diamond and gold
Watch him create stories never to be told
His dreams
his passion
In his dirty hands he holds
Sweating his soul till the day he sets them free....

Tbt-M