Harvest
Take a look at me
And declare your intentions to me
My heart bleeds
Yes, it daily bleeds
Of the substance that goes in there
Which the eyes daily encounter
And the ones that tint the ear.
How best can I cry?
For that this generation is making us to dare.
Loneliness is a bad game
But it's better than being with fake souls.
They make you laugh
Just to satisfy their gluttons and urge
And when the oil is dried, they're gone.
My daily cry for love has grown than Mount Olive
Even at this age, non is set to wear the crown.
Not that my life is made to be a clown
As our guys do make good of them for prey.
Sixteen abortions gone: I'm not ready for his vow
As he mutters in a sweet voice, I love you
We're destined to be together
While a saint is set to walk down the aisle.
Oh this is a crap!
As it's getting on my nerves
What then makes sense either to be honest
Or not to be but have them in tens.
No I can't join the league
For every act done is a seed by the river
Awaiting the period of harvest.
Copyright © Olorunleke Olorode | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment