RUSTING
Fire is a spirit,
crackling vibrations,
sirring catalyst;
force and energy
of the midday sun.
I raced over
mountains, caressed
hairs of strong
forests and rolled
over balling rivers.
But this dour
fluorescence Is a
used canister
rusting to dust
where doting memories
of the midday sun
lazy along the silver
line into the
grove of silence.
Copyright © Nwafor Oji Awala | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment