paper boy

I mean no malice
Am no structural engineer
Preferring organised chaos
Weaving baskets
Anticipating magic
Chosen by loose fitting words
No millionaire either
Silver and gold pollute the soul
Compromising the writer
Contaminating truth
A merchant of a better tomorrow
More like a paper boy
Delivering unwanted news
Yelling at the top of my voice
Crying wolf it seems
Nobody listening
Everyone waiting for the echo
The voice of the mountains
Like a long forgotten word
Biding my time
Never losing my integrity
My meaning
You see my plight
I can only hope

Copyright © knox mahlaba 2014
Author – Back From The Dead: The Rising of an African Spirit