Favour Obinna Poet Free verse

DISARRAY

My thoughts scatter in disarray
as I wonder why nothing bends my way—
why my effort shrinks beneath responsibility,
why my dreams dim beneath duty.

I stumble. I stagger.
My will trembles;
courage thins.
Yet still I walk forward—
because I must.
Because it is expected.

Expectation sits heavy
on my shoulders,
making me shudder
at quiet intervals.

Sometimes I wrestle with confusion,
with the urge to surrender.
A silent voice whispers,
“Stop… give up… disappear…”
but I force myself not to listen.

Still, my mind unravels.
I search for a path,
and yearn for a day
that finally feels like peace.

How long must I wander in the night?
How long must I fight battles
inside and outside myself?

I am not strong enough—
yet I continue.

I look toward the horizon,
questioning the race I’m running
and whether victory is even possible.

I’ve barely begun,
yet this new world shakes me,
melting the foundations
of everything I once believed—
teaching me that childhood
is a luxury no longer mine.

Deep breaths.
I steady myself
and walk forward,
the only motion I’ve mastered.
I don’t know why I keep going—
only that I must.

My emotions spiral out of my grasp;
I watch from a distance,
a spectator in my own life.

It feels like me against the crowd,
my beliefs against theirs,
my existence begging to matter.

My mind spins,
yet I still walk—
forward,
silent,
smiling mechanically.

A thought whispers,
“It's always been about you.
What about the others?”

I halt—
confused by the question
and the sudden ache in my chest.

I scan the field.
Left. Right.
Again.
Again.
Again.

My eyes sting like a boiling kettle—
all cried out,
yet steaming still.

I keep walking,
though the silence grows heavier.
My heart aches
for what I have seen—
the fallen ones,
the countless trapped in their own storms,
the ones fighting nightmares silently.

Some teeter on the edge,
waiting for the push
that will end everything.
Some lay down, empty.
Some struggle, fall, rise, fall—
still reaching for help
that never comes.

No hand reaches back.
No voice says, “Hold on.”
No strength lifts them.

And I wonder—
with all the help I have,
how do I still falter?

I saw them drowning,
yet the fire in their eyes
refused to die.

I walk faster.
Then faster.
Then run—
toward something,
or away from something.
I don’t know.

The voices ask,
“Do you run to achieve your dream
or to escape it?”

I grit my teeth
and run harder.

Old wounds rise again—
proof they never healed—
but I don’t stop.

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