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Poem
our script opened on a biography about a boy
learning to empty himself in the street so that he could dance
and sip memories from the eyes and face of his mother
he bears the image of how wild joining a whole story could be
like the pains on the forehead
like star hunters in the black street
like the dark whores in black sister’s street
like fog of fire romancing lyrics of poetry
it could be the next breath that could take him home 
from bearing the song of dark room
he is a scar, the blemish on mother’s nipple
untamed.

Light fades…

next scene, he became palms joining for prayers 
a priest waiting on a sacred step from heaven to come by
a poetry of war and misery; fierce heart broken in pieces
memories sipped from his veins and arteries and heart and pulses...
the script says stop
but he moved closer to his death
wild enough to kill self and resurrect sorrow
solitude emptied him 
aggravation shattered him
we wished that that script was never written 
we sailed out of set but he remained
untamed 

light fades… 

camera rolling! sound set! Scene three! Take one! Action!
he stretched into bodies, into our eyes, into our hearts
we all wanted to know what it meant to starve to death
leave your memories, feelings and emotion in a windpipe
searching into the rippled souls of men that went and never returned
to cut through monument, into beyond, into shelves
of sadness when time becomes darkness
the sun loses concentration of him
no knife, no dagger, no piercing object to kill self
Props and set wasn’t complete for homicide
he would learn to throw himself into the world again
to write elegy for his sick mother before she dies
Untamed.

Light fades….

our script closed on a biography about him 
learning to be a man even with many responsibilities
he planted his yesterday on the stage for boys of tomorrow 
though, he was thrown away by his mother at birth 
he has learned that a man must be a man to face his challenges
life has taught him to run even from women 
to be scarce like real men are in the eyes
we wrote words for his absence among the boys
for memories of his past to crawl and yell 
for he is fourteen-year-old boy dying of silence
silence that his mother caused when she killed his father
Joining yesterday and today together in his palms
Untamed.


Light fades….

Yours Poetically,
© John Chizoba Vincen
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