At the reception hall of fate
Waiting the high points of the
day,
Some unspecified tragedy to
play itself out.
Waiting the darkness of the
final times,
On the impulse of the
nighttime.
Dreary clouds bleed a shower
Like a thousand petals
drifting from a flower
But harder.
Flesh clings to bone
Like a film of oil on the
scalp of a stone.
Education seems like the
perfect excuse
To delay the manifestation of
the youth.
Engulfed in fiendish gloom
Purpose screams stifled sighs
In the confines of a shadow,
Like a quiver deprived of its
arrows,
A preserved seed is a traitor
for the gallows.
Akpan
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