Written by: femi joey oloidi

After I have continuously fed the moon with my 
spoon of inspirational feelings

Soon I noticed; it never grew fat,
but stayed toon, like an animated raccoon 

so I had to enhance the moon, to a glowing 
moonlight, and adopt its moonlight,
into my pool of wholly gratification

My little backpack held a slim lunch of ideology, a 
monochrome vision, colored inspiration, a digital 
faith, ink book, jotting desire, cloudy hopes, and a 
wholesome feel of willingness of everything I 
needed for the day 

Eagerly following the irresistible sea feels of Saint. 
Writer the poet 

I began,
trekking in hopes,
working in ropes, 
and writing in copes,  
along the sky-high trail of motivational spine of 
fortunate path.

The tussle and bustle of my bushy and busy 
unsuitable ideology, fell away,
and I felt a sliver solitude as the only person on 
this long awaiting vision, winding around my 

All of a sudden, 
my light and vision, reviles,
that in the mist of nothing, no air nor fairness,
wonderful poetry can still be made golden.