Day 27: Conceit

Photo: chalkboardquotes.wordpress.com

A single road forked in a yellowed wood,

The unfolding read like a mellow book

For the visually impaired.

Open secrets are designed to trap all existing without a care.

So I pick up the pieces of the puzzles of the life

I discarded on my path to strife.

And I count my losses,

As I get off my high horses.

Retribution

Will be the reward of all machinery of persecution.

I lay down my baton

Like a beat up penitentiary warden

And pick up my courage,

Ammunition and a multiplication of soulja rage.

Now on the streets, everybody that see me

They really wanna be me, cause the degree

Of the set of ideals I accomplish

Are exotic treasures to relish.

A breath in the wind

Is the measure of the adversary’s wit.

I pull myself together, like a dose of forever

And straddle momentum like a speedometer.

My reality speaks like an oracle

Forcing eternity to pierce the temporal with its tentacle.

In a most profound way,

It inspires thoughts of better days.

I have compromised the vanity of people-hating

For the exquisite beauty of ingenuity;

I was born of desperate fury;

A seed of the poetic glory.

My triumph will invent a unique existence,

And tear up every wall of resistance.

In a nutshell,

The days of my life will amaze, will daze

Like a fairytale’s spell.

Akpan