Poetry: The Formation


Love like politics they say is a game
For some, it’s much for the passion
Whilst for others, it is a platform for fame
Whatever maybe your mind’s fashion
Keep this to heart; A game with no plan is lame

Hence the formation must be such
That not only attains a goal.

It must also increase you much
For a plan that is followed whole
Surely increases man’s ration

Well how do you play to win?
By means of defense or an attack on dreams?
It all boils down to a master’s grand schemes
What have you coached your mind to think?
The mind- is key to unlocking potentials

Greed, malice, and envy heap
The heart is the storage facility
They tamper the mind, they pierce it deep
And fetch her a bucket of hostility
To quench her thirsty hate.

Then comes a swift lingering swing
Of hand biting as if to sting

Tearing nations and falling walls
Burning every tear as it falls
Making fear stand only to crawl.

Now they welcome the quiet,
The calm that kisses loss.
The grave is feast,the carcass the diet
To win, a line they must cross
To an end and fulfilling worse.


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