Rock

Written by: Dowell Oba

In my way comes a fuss
A thundering of marches,
In my world yearns a departure
A flee from it all.

With a strength of fulfilment
Comes a job for my headset,
Soft in motion a tune
For my beautiful lily world.

A genre of instrumentality
Softly played with an ease,
A match of Saul's fulfilment
In David's soothing lyre.

Now a feeling of conquest
As I safely conquer the world,
My path a field fertile
As with life comes delight.

Is it something about its guitar
Or the way it feels in my head?
Is it thy passionate undertone
As though a bombshell, drops?

For with me comes no competition
For I'm stirred by a Trojan horse,
My mind's profound of peace
In my explicit genre of rock.