My flares are high but my volitions are low
Six feet under are shattered bones that thirst for flesh
Faith seems to be a thing for the fittest an
And hope, a thing for those with cold shoulders
Scarcely fit to determine their fate
The globe, in the hand of the writer
Who knows already, the end of his mystery
Why then do I have to have faith?
Why then do I have to be hopeful?
Why then do I have to believe?
I die daily of questions without answers
I long for to get, but I end up blowing the wind
Six feet above are clothed bones longing to lay low
Opulent wealth I have acquired with or without struggle all the same
Why plan at all when man proposes and lot disposes
I have to oppugn why me;
By prayer,
Magic,
Struggle
Or cheating
Try to get out of the pages of a completed work
My heart is so cold that it freezes everything around me
My heart is so cold that it freezes everything around me
I commune with cheetahs yet dine with snails
Who’s going to fight the battle that I hold its weapons?
Birds with wild wings long to crawl on their toes
Love, a thing with joy and perfect peace, cheap, yet so expensive
I long to die, I long to live.
But costs of both are very unfriendly
Life and live, what an irony
My heart is so cold that it freezes everything around me
I reason in the speed of light but comprehend as a tortoise crawls
The world is a mystery that only the spirited can solve.
Ha! Ha! I have its solution.
Do you think you do?
Do you even know what I talk about?
Then you defend your case.
Written by: Eziudo Nwachukwu
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
