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| Photo: photographywest.com |
The summer
has passed, the harvest has ended but, we are not saved.
Sleepy leaves
rustle as zephyr’s breath deftly turns the page,
Marshaling
out the last article of daylight;
Another
24 neutralized.
Dilemma
illustrates the dressing room of my soul
The aftermath
is in small stages, grabbing a foothold.
Seeds of
corrupt tendencies tell tales
Of the
loss of compassion’s strum.
The dawn
unveils
The spirit
of warriors forlorn.
These are
days of pain
But I’m
not one to pass the buck or to blame.
Can’t
get stuck with what the system made me;
Ain’t
gon’ let the hate diagrams be my taste buds’ appeal.
Surviving
in this death game means finding our way back home
Before darkness
like a mighty army plunders the spoils of the soul,
And sequesters
the residuum of subdued courage.
Falsity
holds the control stick in this hour of nature’s eclipse
Like a
terrorist manipulates his hostage.
The entrance
of morning light is like a slow painful creep;
The essence
of life pines away silenced in solitary.
Ill wind
is blowing again,
An anniversary
of misery,
A jaunt
through referred pain.
That’s the
succinct recital of ever day living.
There exists
a constant fearful yield to the enemies of the race of man
In a
time that witnesses the light of hope dimming.
Labor of
love has lost its appeal for the man of valiance.
We may
have sold off our souls beyond redeeming.
Akpan
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