Friday Night Lights

When the whirlwind weaves through space
Nothing of the earth remains
Their story reeks of bad breath
And the many shade of stains.

When the light comes up at night
The pain born burns with a glow
Joy that wouldn’t last two weekends
If this Friday could be slow

I might have enough to last
Me more sun days than before
Take a nap and be ready
When the whirlwind weaves through space.

Victor Oyedele