Talking to myself through poetry
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Every year we look forward to next
Speak of the Devil, December is here
But it has not a spark of decency
Taking many lives, at the final lap
You may not truly comprehend
Or understand the gravity
And the large vacuum it does create
Until it snatches someone close to you.
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…
So true! I hold my breath every year at this time… thinking “ is my turn?… will it be my loved one?”. Well said!
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On point
Thank you
Am happy you can relate
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🙏🏽
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