”Interpret not my words with the color of your minds”
plastered all over the pages of the morning papers,
a dilemma of occult,
fine black pop-star encrypted in white skin,
a direct consequation,
the secret hid for years is found,
that underneath this clean, white paper of mine,
lies a thick lake of red-bloodied innocence.
beyond the writings of these killing letters,
emasculate your inner thoughts,
free, maddened thinker encapsulated in this jail of wits,
in humility enhance thy being,
as you let your spirit engage your soul to will,
that in the twilight of your death to skin,
the man enslaved inside of you,
might grow in breathe to free in you.
all the thoughts inscribed in verse in words,
of how the dark can bleach its shades in Light,
how truth is kept behind our lies,
how sick we writers get at times,
pray this train of thoughts of mine,
take me aflight through that narrow gate,
I pray I find the Light tonight,
and the end of my poem be a start to life.
Written by: Taiwo Luke Oladamola Real
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.