Ann Okotha Poet Personification

Office Warlord

He smiles
An almost insane smile
Like an incomplete piece of mould
His handshake is stiff
It's as if his hand were dead to his whole body

He likes to play king
All bow around him
Like leaves being rustled by the wind
Him, the wind that changes destiny
In the boardroom

But my bark is worn out
To bend is to break it
And the branches are not fully grown
It hasn't even began to flower yet
So where shall my leaves fall from

But he is not yet done
He will continue to fight
Even when he is alone on the battlefield
Because it has been predetermined
That he shall be the warlord of the era
Battle or no battle
He shall continue to fight

Will he survive this time?

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Sara Kendrick August 31, 2009 at 3:31 AM I haven't been there but some homes are run like this also. It would be a good comparison to many situations. I am glad that you wrote this interesting poem. Keep writing. Sara