Poetry: The Mad Man’s Bant


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My hands are tied; stringed together by a piece of twine, when they used to come to my house we laughed over a bottle of wine.

Now they talk about me like I am far away, I am here but my soul is been led astray.

They give me that liquid that weakens me when I am at my best, taunt and hunt me they will not let me rest.

I scream most times and try to vent, they run away like I have no hope and they have placed their bet.

My hair is in locks because I like the feel, of being free from the world not caring if it is real.

My world used to be perfect I had all the cards, I dealt so well I became the best hands.

The casino was 200 yards from the rail way; where I met her and she blew me away.

Her hair was brown and her eyes had a patch of grey, she kept walking in circles that day like she had lost her way.

I tried to say Hi! But it was like my tongues were tied, I couldn’t lose a girl for me it was a thing of pride.

Finally I poked her and I guess she liked the feel, of a young man dressed in all teal.

I would spare you the mushy details of our love story, cos at the end I do not want to hear your sorry.

I became hooked to her like a juvi on meth, a day without her and it was like I was out of breath.

Soon she became the solace I needed, to start my life over and believe me it was needed.

So one day I bought the ring, I took her for karaoke and I watched her sing.

After the song I pulled her close, bent on one knee and brought out a rose.

Told her I loved her and asked her to be mine, brought out the ring and I watched her shine.

The minute she was about to speak, I heard a bang and then it became bleak.

She fell in my arms and there was a pool of blood, I didn’t get it or was it a flood.

My girl has been shot by the hands I dealt, I snapped cos I couldn’t deal with how I felt.

Call me mad all you want, I will stay here at this very spot.

Holding my hands out hoping she falls, then when she does I will be back to who I was.


Pseudo Poetry: The Voice
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