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| Photo: Caras Ionut Inscription is mine |
Time
stands at a halt
In the weighty
silence of the crypt.
A lifetime
of ingenuity is flung
At the
intrusion of random privacies.
Legend
is blasphemed
By otiose
vocalizing.
In dark
places
Glorified
evil lounges;
Moans of
societal slaved ignorant
Are
multiplied and comparatively arrant.
Desolate
hopes
Tinged
with a bitter-sweetness, evoke
In
finely-crafted language, the throes
That,
like slavery's coffles restrain men's souls.
Window
blinds of reality is six-foot thick.
And the
darkness is deeper than it seems.
Truth
stumbles in there.
Vision
trips in its snare.
Yet the
secrets of lives are laid bare
In the
ominous wake of creative despair.
Purpose
is a mechanism of circumstance;
It
dangles disconnected and out of balance
Like the
critical play out of a gross penance.
Akpan
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