My way. A journey through life from Johannesburg to Cape Town

How I long for those days by the harbour, so dear.

How I miss all the lessons of life, love, and trust,

How I miss your presence in this house turned to dust.

That era, a shadow, your memory it keeps,

The hearts now in sorrow, in silence it weeps.

As if life was a dream, passing swift as I blinked,

Like scenes ever-changing, one by one interlinked.

I can’t believe it – I refuse to believe—

How brief and how endless this world can deceive.

A world that once held us, now bids us goodbye,

You closed the door softly, no keys left to try.

Through twilight we wander, like children, astray,

Since you’ve left us to follow your chosen way.

You altered my fate when you led me to him,

The one who was cherished, now lost in life’s whim.

You left as he did – elegant, strong—

Your photograph lingers, where my heart belongs.

CHAPTER 3. THE BOND OF PURPOSE AND TRUST

Words can wound, they can judge, they can kill,

They do not console, but their sting lingers still.

Life, so fragile, succumbs to deceit,

A salted branch piercing, a wound left to bleed.

No doubts are concealed, they openly thrive,

In the lace of oblivion, secrets survive.

I bow in repentance to the Virgin above,

While you clasped my heart in your claws with false love.

A tear powerless falls down my cheek’s pale line,

My heart surrendered, begging to forget in time.

Forget that paths can exist between every word,

Forgive, and believe in life and love restored.

Forget selfish pride, like a monk in his prayer,

Exalting those who dare to defy despair.

Winter has passed, and with it, the pain

That burned through my heart like an endless refrain.

Farewell, yet I won’t say, “I forgive,”

For my sorrow departs as long as I live.

Winter’s cold steps, sharp and unkind,

Tread the streets and pierce the mind.

Farewell, yet I won’t say, “I forgive,”

But my heart breathes once more, seeking strength to relive.

Words, words—boundless creations they be,

Without pain or sweetness, words cannot be free.

Gone is the time when words inspired our way,

Like Danko’s flame leading through disarray.

No shame in his courage, no lie in his prose,

No envy, no sloth to trample others’ woes.

Bitter words of sorrow, borne by hands not your own,

Are for those who toil, who shape life from stone.

For when night and day are consumed by your fire,

To craft, to create, to love and aspire,