Here in my quiet corner
Jesus culture seeps out of the phone at my left
The day isn’t young
The late pink of December’s evening gently informs me that evening is here
I think and rage,
I read and boil
How dare they?
I have known only one Way
I have ever judged by only one standard, supreme above others
I realize that I share like thoughts
As the fictional Kofo Ebaje
And the very much real Moses
Because I need to separate fact from its significant other
Things we learn in ecclesia
Do they really count as fact?
Or are we held at the mercy of a spinning yarn?
Are they just stories to soothe the heart?
To hype the mind?
In heart’s deep
Bubbles up from that chasm
The more sinister proposition of
The eternal joke like Saeid of Cairo
‘Tis a frightful and pitiful thing, such thoughts
However, I hold to the Way and I’ll see it to end
Saving the rest for the next not-following period
Something like the forever gamble
But some part of me says: all bets are off
While the other says: No bets
Copyright © Theophilus Ekpa | Year Posted 2016
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