Poetry: Imprisoned Epiphany

I am a firefly
made to believe I can shoot stars through my butt
why?
because I’m a God with such gut,
relieving the worries on your wishes
when I am called ‘shooting star’.
I am a wind
hanging from the shores of the heavens
roaring with the thunder when it rains,
so I carry a loud heart in your eyes
and guard the heat of a broken mind.
I am a dream
living in the field of timeless futures ,
I’m the grass on the farm
waving the sky
homing the firefly
and in touch with the wind.
I have lived all of these in my head
when I’m a locked up version of the past
guarded by the uncertainty of tomorrow.
I live but cease to have life
I am a distortion of this music-life.

Ruddapoet

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Your bridge became a threat
the flames I stocked
burned every bit of it

Unlike where you stood
I watched you from a land green and lush with life

This land with the face of a woman
Woman who sought to imprison my soul
How I loved her contours
Her high rolling hills and deep valleys

Loved until beneath her grin
A serpent bit, I fled
There was no bridge to you
So wounded and dying
In a deserted place, I lay

That was when like a dream
I can no more awake from
Like a bird whose wings became the wind
I saw the star, the sun
I heard a song, a symphony

And now I have become
that which is locked in the pages of books!
Become a song, a dream
A tale, a wish, a prayer!
A box of pictures, an empty page of scented paper
which I must send to you
Which like the rainbow you must colour
In the shape of pretty petals
In the fashion of Argosies

To ferry you far away from the memory of fire
From the reach and heat of ever burning bridges

–OracLe

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I have pondered and wandered
Around thoughts till i saw them nude,
I have stared at norms so hard i don’t see the beauty in obedience
I have mated with reasoning
I see hoaxes embedded deep in existence
My being suddenly awakened from The laundry my mind went through
I crawl into my shell
Awed by how my dusty being is joined by entities and deities who know me by name
I revel at who i am
I drown in the knowledge that we are no ordinary beings
Exotic in our faulted nature
Yet our ego leads us to ruin
We forget these enlightenment,
Was to cure us of a dull mind…

Omolola J.

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Books are spirit humans
They walk us through to guide or hide our path
There are passages that bury our minds
Pages that speak untrue truth
Columns that ask us to kill our conscience
Chapters with extending hands of weakness
Volumes revealing the true faces of secrets
Covers cajoling reason to lock inside
Before the eyes begin to mix up letters and numbers
And that’s how fires start:
The plots of the stories come together
The characters come with a match
They light up the scenes in the drama
And the stage is lit up with a scratch
Then perception splits into two
Into good where God is the devil
And bad dies in the hands of a few.

Lights come not to kill the dark
But to show how beautiful dark appears in the light.

Leon

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I want to dine in your presence Oh creator
I want a fine wine to be sipped by us
I want to share a meal and your blood to drink
I want a whole lot yet I am not meeting the standard
I want to hear your still small voice but this pleasure is my living lie
Worship has been my soul desire
But herbs and spices became a fast meal
See how I admire the spirit and truth
I want to be that spirit and the truth
I want to yield without looking back
But a certain stench has become the choice fragrance
This has eroded me of divine nature
I like how my flesh gets in the way sorta
I like to taste sin and cursed waters
Wiggle in them and fulfill my desires
Can I flirt a little and run to the altar?
Can I be a saint and still eat manna?
Will the red sea swallow my whole existence?

Rachel Charles