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THE GOSPEL OF TEETH AND THRONES

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Every villain begins as a believer. He wakes each morning convinced the fire in his chest is justice and not hunger. Do not ask a man why he conquers. Ask him what story he told himself before he drew blood. Because the mind— the mind is the first weapon . Steel dulls. Empires rust. But a sharpened thought can split a kingdom in half . Feed your mind or it will feed on you. Ignorance is a blunt blade — and the world respects only edges. Death is promised to us all. Signed. Sealed. Certain. The date, however, is written in disappearing ink. So why crawl? Why shrink? Why tremble before shadows that will one day inherit your bones? You speak of fear as if it disqualifies courage. Fool. Fear is the forge. Bravery is the blade pulled from it still glowing. A man who feels nothing is not brave. He is empty. True courage is walking into the storm while your ribs rattle like loose windows in a haunted house. Do not mistake silence for weakness. The wolf does not ask permission to judge the lio...
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We living on a borrowed time.

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We are echoes in a fading hall, ghosts humming in the throat of silence, dancing on seconds that aren’t ours to keep — our laughter, a fragile rebellion against the ticking that never sleeps. The sun lends us its light, but even daylight asks for it back; our breaths are debts we pay in whispers, each inhale — a promise, each exhale — a surrender. We build homes on shifting sands, dreams carved in dust and heartbeat, as if the storm will forget our names. But time — time remembers everything. It watches from the corners of our eyes, aging us in half-truths and reflections, turning our yesterdays into rust, our futures into smoke. Still we love, still we fight the dying light — knowing the end was written long before the first dawn. And when the silence finally comes to collect what we borrowed, may it find us unafraid — burning, not fading, alive even in the taking. The Luo Poet | Poetically Speaking & Writing .
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A Grain in the House of Chickens

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A grain of maize can’t plead its case in the house of chickens — where every mouth is a verdict, and justice ends in a beak. The weak don’t win in hungry courts; truth gets pecked before it speaks. In a system built to swallow you whole, silence is the only meal that lasts. How can one expect fairness where the system is built to feed on flesh? Where justice wears the butcher's coat, and mercy is priced per portion. The System Eats Its Own The Luo Poet - Poetically Speaking & Writing.  #ApieceOfMindArt 
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Me and the Devil

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I met the devil on a smoke-stained hill, With eyes like coal and a voice so still, He laughed like thunder wrapped in sin, And offered me truth wrapped in a grin— Said, "Heaven was lost, but Hell lets you in." We danced through fire where angels fell, Whispers turned my heartbeat into a spell, He showed me sins dressed sharp and clean, Slick suits, gold chains, and envy’s gleam— “This is salvation,” he said with a sheen. He painted freedom with poisoned ink, Poured me wine, dared me to think. The stars grew teeth, the moon went red, I felt alive, yet almost dead— “Pain is the price,” the devil said. In his mirror, I saw my face, Twisted smile, a holy disgrace. Not man, not beast, just something new, Dripping in charm, dipped in taboo— A soul reborn in shadow’s hue. We preached on corners, me and he, Selling dreams with no receipt. Crowds adored the lie we spun, Their prayers dried up beneath the sun— “Truth is ugly. Lies are fun.” Now I walk with brimstone breath, Laugh with ...
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The Inner Me.

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  My inner me is darker, Can't be compared to darkness itself, Darker than the shadows, Darker than nights, So dark that it out shadows the lights, As mischievous as it can be, Cunningnes of a fox it possesses, But, devours as thee Devil  So unpredictable I may state,  Forgive and forget they say, But,the grudge in inner me stays, In a tranquil manner, it Waits for revange, As dark as it is, Too dark to opeque my thinking, But then,  It has been in the beginning of the beginning that begun the beginning of the beginning in the affairs of my life, It is the it in me, the me in it,the it in this he,the only it there is,That without it all other me fails to exist, Oooh, thee inner me, @TheLuoPoet-Poetically Speaking and Writing.
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Pangs

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  After a long day of scavenging, Under the scorching sun, With unsuccessful attempts, The tired man,finally retires to bed, So exhausted and weak, Thoughts deluge his mind, Growling of his stomach rents the silence, He becomes prey,for hunger devours him up, On his back,he stares at the roof, As if to prove,his life is of no use, At a point he talks to himself, For all along, alone he is, Tick tack the clock clocks,somnolently he becomes, In the tiny bed,himself he curles, Vividly ignoring the hunger pangs, "Every dog has it's....." Tomorrow will be his day,Optimistically he believes.  @theluopoet  Art by Saatchi Art.
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Her Desires.

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In the dark, Her secret affair did grow, Love is blind, that's why he didn't see them though,  Optimistically,in the ranks he rose, For he was at the top if arranged in rows, Loving her took no pause, From flowers to giving all his hours, Love,two way trafic, For a one way,ends in tragic, Heartbreaks don't heal through magic, Though his efforts to her were energetic,  Despite her love for him was sarcastic, The other man was her taste, Getting attached to him was her fate, Unknown to her,his actions were scripted,  His words manipulated  He controlled her desires,he was her "messiah", "Dear Lord,on my knees I kneel, You're guidance I seek, For Her beauty luminates my eyes,makes me blind,  She drives me, but crazy, I don't mind her crushing me though,  For her,I die,why lie"  Amen. On his feet he stands, What awaits him,his death wish, Flowers in his hands he carries, Not for the lady but for his burial, "Men will fight until they die,Women w...
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