Reopening a Hero S Songbook
In his songbook,
are raving songs of beauty,
which thrushes around the phrases of my mind
and embroiders my soul on an errand
into a white night of a white Christmas,
in a white dreamland,
and having sleepless dreams,
and numerous pictures,
which I can’t clearly depict
but I could reminder an auction,
where flood, was sold at a discount
and breath, to the tallest bidder
Therein in,
my late hero brother,
cheerfully sang from his hero’s songbook
and I astonishingly sang along
with a bright smile and cry,
craving for a new hug,
but we could not hug nor shake hands
And he palely said to me,
I am back to stay,
never to leave
But I woke up, to notice it was a white lie,
Why so, my hero brother?
I try to anger in white lightning,
but I notice that my anger is colourless
and my sweat is adourless
I also try to use white magical feelings to give him a hug or bring him back,
but I could not,
because I am not a professional white witch,
My emotions has been white washed,
and I feel like white trash,
because my hero brother has been trash away from me,
by death
I feel like giving up my white ghost,
like a prostituted white slave,
by drinking up a full tank of white spirit liquid,
so I could be on his ream
But my hero brother begged me not to
He consoled me by saying;
that no matter how transparently apart we where,
his soul will never stop blowing the whistle of joy
or flash a white flag in surrender to death
Because his music will never end, nor will his whistle blend,
because the only thing he has freely given to death is a white feather of shame
This filled me will plenty white hope,
I will sob no more!
Because I now know that my hero late brother is a white knight
I will wait for him, in this unlabeled white land
till we meet and share hugs again
Copyright ©
Femi Joey Oloidi
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