Talking to myself through poetry
Home » Theme » Cycle Of Inspiration » Lost Goodluck
Fortune has now become a fantasy,
Ever since pain and tears flooded in…
Our hankies soaked, we lost Goodluck
And everything changed just as promised
Hence, compatriot… break a leg as you beg
For your freedom from your phantom…
As for me, I am fed up with all these
Old berries and rotten fruits on trees.
Soon you will be off an infant cloth And may encounter storms, dust and rust Some achievements may seem a mirage Unachievable until success emerge…
Let the pages fly and spread their wings Let my spilled inks make millions to think It is plain and simple, hope it sinks “All…
Simple or made into an Elf What is music to a born deaf? Same question goes without tongues Pot or Chef, who spoilt the stock?…
It is no news that the pigs are fat As a result of the embezzlements Taking politics as a personal farm Eating from the labors…
