'Weeping Memories'
With the dying of time poets echo,
In the streets of discord memories weep,
Under the cover of the mind the soul doth speak,
In the stillness of harmony where memories leap.
In the moonless dark, the old ones seek,
Dis- establishment of guilt to defend the weak
Yet nought, was so valuable, throughout
As the cool-aid stains, which never came out
Or the hope, they could somehow, hide their doubt
Of green paper things, they've had their fill
My pocket and yours, adds much to the till
We like it or not, must contribute our share
To shaking that snow, right out of our hair
Like the object, of any desire
Let the blistering smoke inspire
Unlike the knife, that loves to cut
It won't make a puncture, in your gut
This web-like lust, would be no crime
Were it, but a mote, in the eye of time
Like Latin, is language, but passed away
With magic, the words, all gone astray
Where to, for what, to find one day
Whether Wallet, Mallet, Mallard,
Or Walloon, Balloon, Bollard?
Life's ghastly problems, can be stubborn and hard
As the tide of time, flows relentlessly onward
Bronze face reveals little, of the one within
Who sits alone with, green recycle bin
Quietly brewing, an escape from sin
Mouth wide open, singing and sipping
As notes hit the ceiling, bloody and dripping
'With the dying of time, poets echo,
In the streets of discord, memories weep,
Under the cover of the mind, the soul doth speak,
In the stillness of harmony where memories leap.'
---------------------------------------------------------
Poetry by Rev.Bola A. <IBEJI>
(copyright: 9.12.11 -ARR)
--------------------------------------------------------------
With the dying of time poets echo,
In the streets of discord memories weep,
Under the cover of the mind the soul doth speak,
In the stillness of harmony where memories leap.
In the moonless dark, the old ones seek,
Dis- establishment of guilt to defend the weak
Yet nought, was so valuable, throughout
As the cool-aid stains, which never came out
Or the hope, they could somehow, hide their doubt
Of green paper things, they've had their fill
My pocket and yours, adds much to the till
We like it or not, must contribute our share
To shaking that snow, right out of our hair
Like the object, of any desire
Let the blistering smoke inspire
Unlike the knife, that loves to cut
It won't make a puncture, in your gut
This web-like lust, would be no crime
Were it, but a mote, in the eye of time
Like Latin, is language, but passed away
With magic, the words, all gone astray
Where to, for what, to find one day
Whether Wallet, Mallet, Mallard,
Or Walloon, Balloon, Bollard?
Life's ghastly problems, can be stubborn and hard
As the tide of time, flows relentlessly onward
Bronze face reveals little, of the one within
Who sits alone with, green recycle bin
Quietly brewing, an escape from sin
Mouth wide open, singing and sipping
As notes hit the ceiling, bloody and dripping
'With the dying of time, poets echo,
In the streets of discord, memories weep,
Under the cover of the mind, the soul doth speak,
In the stillness of harmony where memories leap.'
---------------------------------------------------------
Poetry by Rev.Bola A. <IBEJI>
(copyright: 9.12.11 -ARR)
--------------------------------------------------------------
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