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Poem
If we begin this tale from the left,
many will see the sons and daughters of tomorrow emerged.
Did God really said "let there be light"?
Or was it a planted falsehood in hearts? 
Are we really wet in the image of God 
or in the complexities of the devil? 
Who are you by the way? 
When was the last time you check the complexion of your life? 
Wildness pulls the trouser of sanity
For Wild has power, water has rocked humanity to succumb.


I have counted the number of my days on earth and carved it on the pumpkin leaves. 
I have nothing to worry about even if death comes today. 
I have started cackling again in the forest. 
This light will bear me witness that I came,
I warned them of hazard of falsehood,
I held a tilted peace among men, 
I graced the World Series of pains;
Yes,  this light will bear me witness. 
The fire place is made for lost dreams when they are found in your eyes. 
No one knows where the wind blows. 


Let this note play in your blood stream, 
Let it bear the names of the streets in hell, 
Let's number the Huts of Sluts in heaven before dawn;
Let us read from the casket of a dead man a written elegy of his sins.
Even if the readers of my stanzas fail to realize that boyhood is a sin,  
I will apologize  for being an adult.
Many will see this through the music playing in the head of a mad man. 
Others will see it and cry out blood about the city built in the bosom of emptiness;
Whilst others, will see Azrael at feet of men clamouring for redemption,
But, I will see voidness in your eyes. 


I will stop shooting at mid sky of stars 
The orthodox of this lexical freedom is lost,
Tell your mother of this periodical pains of the world. 
Man is water and dust.
The wild is imaginations of this waters and nature. 
We are  work over in the Skimpy world, Frail. Fragile. rainbows,  fireflies.
A cracking world depicting lossness, drifting slowly through the mouth of the wind while smile prey on revival, on loss taste. 
Subjective to this sunshine beauty,
Of this waters and wild,  we're naive
We are the world itself reviving metallic tissues.
God has hope and hopes of getting through the eyes of men. 


Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
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