Day32
#365daypoetryforadvocacyandsocialchangechallenge
Yesterday, we heard four boys fell in between petal and thorn, trying to puck the feathers of a butter(fly).
Yes four boys!
_of a boy:
Who wears the face of a god,
Tongue of sermon, caressing, kissing,
and converting a girl's temple into wet scriptures of romans and solomons
Of a boy:
With the complexion of love
Filling, drilling, the sacred spaces between
our lungs with dark hallelujahs, turning
our bones into jericho and d.u.s.t.
Of a boy:
Wearing the body of the sky, burying his head in between eclipses and hell, placing his soul on a stammering tongue
Of a boy:
With the body of a cobra and rod flipping and planting lust in between a woman thigh, making her the only city that doesn't recognize God -an hell without fire
So i ask myself, How can a butter(fly)
without feathers?
Then sanity repels, like the opposite sides of a magnet-like north from south
Perhaps!
I do not know of erosions or rainfall, but i know of how 'we-men' lose their footprints
to the seashore.
I do not know of love or scorn, but i know
Of how rivers become reflection of mockery to their source
I do not know about death or dearth, but i know how 'we-men'
Live by dying everyday and this poem is one of them
Is it true roses withers too?
and darkness travels faster
than light without a skating shoe?
Oluwashola Isreal Oluwafemi is a writer, born in the western region of Nigeria, a native of ondo state, owo, a business administrator with the passion of art burning deep in him.
centerhref="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpLqIzONXBUywtO4TJ3jJMDXI_pWj-qWLe4whq_BibA8e5UfbljElTQ3CQJZx8Go5wfw4rwcwEfnDj4ReleTQBKYXMOOA1gDNbI5yoh1Spe69mvDeklT-nGhmR8nrcDVCT5yimT6I6kY0/s1600/FB_IMG_1526057023192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
#365daypoetryforadvocacyandsocialchangechallenge
Yesterday, we heard four boys fell in between petal and thorn, trying to puck the feathers of a butter(fly).
Yes four boys!
_of a boy:
Who wears the face of a god,
Tongue of sermon, caressing, kissing,
and converting a girl's temple into wet scriptures of romans and solomons
Of a boy:
With the complexion of love
Filling, drilling, the sacred spaces between
our lungs with dark hallelujahs, turning
our bones into jericho and d.u.s.t.
Of a boy:
Wearing the body of the sky, burying his head in between eclipses and hell, placing his soul on a stammering tongue
Of a boy:
With the body of a cobra and rod flipping and planting lust in between a woman thigh, making her the only city that doesn't recognize God -an hell without fire
So i ask myself, How can a butter(fly)
without feathers?
Then sanity repels, like the opposite sides of a magnet-like north from south
Perhaps!
I do not know of erosions or rainfall, but i know of how 'we-men' lose their footprints
to the seashore.
I do not know of love or scorn, but i know
Of how rivers become reflection of mockery to their source
I do not know about death or dearth, but i know how 'we-men'
Live by dying everyday and this poem is one of them
Is it true roses withers too?
and darkness travels faster
than light without a skating shoe?
Oluwashola Isreal Oluwafemi is a writer, born in the western region of Nigeria, a native of ondo state, owo, a business administrator with the passion of art burning deep in him.
centerhref="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpLqIzONXBUywtO4TJ3jJMDXI_pWj-qWLe4whq_BibA8e5UfbljElTQ3CQJZx8Go5wfw4rwcwEfnDj4ReleTQBKYXMOOA1gDNbI5yoh1Spe69mvDeklT-nGhmR8nrcDVCT5yimT6I6kY0/s1600/FB_IMG_1526057023192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
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