Romantic Poetry


love beyond the seasons.
a poem. Of Ephraim.

If winter is us apart

Spring time our blossom,

And if summer us together

Then autumn is where

Our love became one heart.

The autumns haze my memories

Whilst the winters join to freeze my feel to you,

But then the springs shine on me lights of remembrance

Whilst the summers then thaw out my worries of you.

Here in summertime light,

1000 years could pass by

And we wouldn’t know it,

Our hairs could grow grey

And we wouldn’t see it,

If it were cold we would be indifferent to it

For our warmth together

Would wage war against it

And our eyes would interlock

So that no offence could waver the foundation of it.

Even in uncertainty, we sow together trust

And in this place time stands still,

Our minds weaving together history’s longest tapestry.

If it were to have a name I’d call it love,

Others say understanding

And some say indifferent.

Indifferent to the outside world’s voices

Yet sensitive to our own that interlock

To transcend any action or thought –

But I call it love.

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Painting: “Jump Kiss” by Leonid Afremov

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Romantic Poetry

For The World.

A poem on salvation. Of Ephraim

For the world

He was spat on

Beaten, yet He tottered on

Bruised, He still stumbled along

Whipped in your place, He trotted along.

For doubters and naysayers,

For sinners and the worst of sinners,

In all our place

His death was our death

And our death was His

And His resurrection yours.;

His authority,

His righteousness,

His power,

His glory,

His love

Are alive and living in my blood.

Everything of mine is His

And everything of His

Is mine.


I John 2:2

And He Himself is the propitiation for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the whole world.”‬

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Romantic Poetry


An exclusive extract from the upcoming book written by Ephraim Kihondo and illustrated by Adrian Sempa.

The Lover, a romantic
The Loved, a pursuant of love
Perceptive, an observant narrator


Every hole has a heart to it

And every heart has a key to it.

In fact, every hole has a key to it

And every key has a heart attached to it.

There appears to be a certain epidemic that plagues the heart of man,

That has caused a wound that the helping hands of man cannot heal.

It is the disease of love;

A gaping gap that is desired to be filled by all,

That cannot be filled by all,

But can only be filled by One.


For centuries and a day,

My heart has longed

To find the whole of itself,

Perhaps in an unobtainable place,

Perhaps it is someone else

Or perhaps I am confusing myself.

For man often turns to the busyness and activities of life

To cause his heart to forget itself of its desperate cry
For wholeness.

And for a temporary vapour of time

When busying himself,

Man thinks he has won –

Man is lured to the false pretence of completeness –

Until man is stripped naked at that activity’s end,

Where he once again realises his heart’s emptiness

And frantically searches again to busy himself.

This is the cycle of man

And this cycle matches man’s slow

But unapparent sinking into a depressive state.

Man knows he is defeated but refuses to surrender

Even when on his knees,

And when his last resort had long ago

Become his only plan of sort.

How does one break this circle?

How can I find this Holy Grail

For my heart to find its rightful rest?

Is this quest for love destined in the stars to fail?

Adrian Sempa |
Ephraim Kihondo |

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© 2019 Poetic Philosophy
Ephraim Kihondo

Romantic Poetry

The Pauper Prince.

Priceless love.
A poem. Of Ephraim.

I, a pauper,
Said that receiving love
Was equal to debt;
Not reciprocating received love
Ensured that interest accumulated by the second
And every passing, unfruitful day became a burden.

And so lovers became bailiffs
Who ransacked me of all I had,
And romancers tax collectors
Who squeezed and seized anything leftover.
Receiving love would always cost me
And revealing a part of me could cost me everything.

And this is how I once considered love.

My heart naive –
Led astray by the winds –
Was oblivious to the obscure darkness I was in,
Blowing me to and fro one place to another.
Oblivious to my opaque and oblique surroundings,
Oblivious to my present day oblivion
That taught me that love could take
With the pretence to give,
That love could take and continue to take at will,
And that for love,
One could manipulate and do as he willed.

And this is how I once considered love.

Yet in an instant,
My perspective of love –
Maligned, hurt, broken and twisted by fear and pain –
Was made perfect.

The Lover’s love –
Him being Love
Made me know love,
And the Lover loved me
So I am called the Loved.
I am no longer a pauper
Because now I am a prince
Rich in love!

And this love cost me nothing
But cost Him everything.
And now I am joined to Him,
This love too,
Will cost me everything.

For this love cleared all my debt,
Lifting every burden,
Making this love unpayable,
Making this love
Priceless love,
At a priceless price.

For pure love gives with no intention to take,
And pure love gives and continues to give

And this is how I now consider love.


“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.”
John 3:16

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Romantic Poetry

Gone. (Pt. 2)

Of Ephraim.

“So they both ran together, and the other disciple outran Peter and came to the tomb first.”
John 20:4″

Speeding ahead.
Huffing and puffing.
Gasping for air,
Blood on my taste buds.
Heart racing ahead of my legs.
Thighs tiring but my thoughts
Refusing to falter or stall for a second.
Doubting yet believing.
Seeing yet not yet seen.

I must find out.
I must know for myself,
I must see for myself.
Dubiety trips my feet
But the glimmer of hope
Gets me back and running.
I must find out.
Upon arrival,
I see
The handkerchief that was around His head
And the linen cloths that clothed Him
Folded to perfection.
The tidily prepared exit.
My Lover is gone.
The tomb is empty.
He is alive…


“Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb; and he saw the linen cloths lying there, and the handkerchief that had been around His head, not lying with the linen cloths, but folded together in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who came to the tomb first, went in also; and he saw and believed.”
John 20:6-8

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Romantic Poetry

Gone. (Pt 1)

Of Ephraim.

“Now in the place where He was crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been laid.”
John 19:42

By God I cannot sleep.
My body is weary
But my eyes stand upright in fear
In anxiety and fright.
They have gone from being
My tools of sight to my bane
For they refuse to forget what they have witnessed.

Hour by hour,
I twist and turn to seek a cooler side
For my heavy heart to lay upon.
Only to remember,
The love of my heart,
The heat and fire to my soul
Is gone.

My mind casts back to the
Events of the day prior.
I am shaken to my bone,
Perplexed to my skull,
Spiralling in and out my sleep.

He who is mine,
Who was by my side for three good years,
Is nowhere to be seen,
No where to be found.
They tainted Him,
Mocked Him,
Spat on Him,
Smote Him,
And engraved their hate of Him upon His skin.
My own skin shivers at the memory of His own –
Rejected by His own kind.

Could my LORD really return?
O God spare my soul this grief.
He would have saved Himself from the Cross.
He could have punished the accusers.
He would have proved them all wrong.
But I watched as they solemnly wrapped
And placed His body in the tomb
And rolled the stone.

I am resigned to this fact,
That they took the One I love from me,
And I will never see Him again.
The love I thought would
Always be with Me,
Is gone.


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Romantic Poetry

Ambrosial Sounds.

Of Ephraim and Oye.

The sound of heaven.

Let us dance like David.
Only by Him will my foot
A stream of sounds flowing
down the trail of harmonies
lurking all around the garden.

All the strings will ripple
at the touch of Your hand.

The sound of Heaven.
The sounds of the garden.
The ripples of the current of His will,
O the warmth of the
streak of silver in the
The whistles of the leaves waving ‘Hosanna!’
The songs of the
dove and the cries
of the lamb proclaiming the entry of the
He has arrived.

The voice of the LORD
Calls for His bride
Soars for His bride
Draws for His bride.
Though she wanders with purpose
sometimes astray,
He never gives up –
Continues to pray.
His encouragements direct her –
All along the way,
Through the door,
Through her weakness He perseveres.

That is what lovers are for.

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