Too Soft, the Wool is a Tougher Brick

There’s a thin line between mouth, nose
Life, death, thorns and scent from a rose
In the battle of weighty strength
A soaked wool stands a better chance
Than sponge in a soapy romance
Do we judge a ruler by length,
How many words said to the press
Or by level of correctness
Too soft, we do not know our strength.

If you will it, you can have it
Truth painted like common concrete
Spluttered around like bad water
Too soft, we let everything in
Can’t even keep ourselves from sin
Only to blame a man’s daughter
Strength is measured not in kilos
You’ll be surprised what pillows
Can carry before a slaughter.

Victor Oyedele