Elixirs
beautification of painted imageries)
Like these broken shadows spread on the floor of my father's tattered room,
Like those weeping spirits by the corner of my mother's excited kitchen singing,
The sky wept in the absence of those beds allocated to the sun of its glories.
Thousand mouths wagged at the dogs for sighting another ghost in the heart of the church that must be hidden at night. we are ourselves the mirror of fantasy handed over to the priest that knows whole lots of women's nakedness,
Let's fire out memories of lost heritages.
"This will cure your madness and gives you eternal life in Christ Jesus" they said "for Chinese Alchemist will come again with a precious gold made by this liquid. we'll drink from it fountain of lost want,
The sand we counted, the priest said It was for the body of the Holy Mary.
The stars we counted, he said it was for the body of Christ who resurrected with sins of the flesh and blood of the lamb.
When next you hear a preacher' mouth preaching ask him of Sodom and sinful Gomorrah before he tells you the truth is bitter.
Here are the eastern equivalent mastery philosopher's stone of creed and prayers before we were born to this clothed love world, mother told a tale of the mirror,
How they found the end in the end light,
How they searched for a way in a way;
But at the end, the clergy men deceived them and saw their prides gazing openly. We'll sit to listen to the pebble of the broken silence the priest will spread yet on another grave for Auntie Tabitha.
Flocks are the shepherd's prey as they lead them into hell of condemination.
We are ourselves the clothes we wear,
The clergy men had sipped the remains of our sanity and gave us insanity of lost. we are ourselves the stream of lines in our thoughts breaking the hun skylines. We believed all they said.
Remember, not all they said by the soil graveyard happen in heaven and hell.
I have been in heaven and tested hell and discovered we're given elixir of life by their lies to keep us following like faithful sheep tracking the greener bush.
You are what you believe and think is right.
We are not immortal but mortals, ashes.
No eternal life, no eternal youth, when we die, the records closed and the world become silent and silent covers all priest had told us with shadows.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent.
Copyright © John Chizoba Vincent | Year Posted 2017
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