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Adeboye Jesutofunmi Poem
MY CAR MY BUCOLIC.
The speed of my automobile exclusively,
Depends on the wheelman which earth born,
Crave where the passengers await it's destination,
Seeing an endless road ahead.
Every four years is it's renewal with the,
Hope of getting to the promise terra-firma,
Where the Israelites peregrinates to,
With despondency from it's adversaries.
Only the strong survive to drive the car twice.
Oh! My wrecked car needs help;
Oh! My foolhardy driver needs help
The despoiled car got it's wound from exterior
Forces; where there is no necessity for protect
Asthenic tyre dawdle the speed;
The engines that fabricates the car now hassle,
Each other with hopeless range in anger
In this car, life live by the way car live life.
My enfeebled heart deems of the,
Mechanic who can revamp my sick car
My position calls for change which we need;
Marooning us inside the darkest tunnel to fracas,
The predators which we see not.
Let's have a heroic search,
Seeing not the vices of the past motorist.
Wheel the car oh driver!
Wheel the car to the right path
That the passenger serene
Wheel pass the motor park where other,
Cars swift with competition among them
My car my bucolic with countless myriad resources.
By: ADEBOYE JESUTOFUNMI?
Copyright © Adeboye Jesutofunmi | Year Posted 2017
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Adeboye Jesutofunmi Poem
Cutoff the strike!
Cutoff the strike of love!
Adam's sperm says cutoff the strike!
Adam's sperm perpetually deems of life,
Minus eve's zygote.
You are the MARTHA that BERTHA,
My heart.
Love is in the heart not the brain,
Where death is the bridge between
MARTHA and MATHIAS.
The enfeebled heart calls for support
Where will love be without live?
And where will life be without love?
My effete heart need your,
Spontaneous palpate to be stalwart
Love does not love when love is lost
Cutoff the strike for the sake of love.
Copyright © Adeboye Jesutofunmi | Year Posted 2017
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Adeboye Jesutofunmi Poem
SOUL OF THE DESTITUTE
The soul bawls with the time
The soul bawls with the season
It's muteness comes from the countenance
It's enrage comes from the expression
The world is it's reason with no solution,
The solution we have gives us the problem
Where the Moses of the Israelites died with
The hope of seeing the promise land
The soul wail with the questions that;
Why did the good die quickly and easily,
While the nefarious last lengthy?
The affluent are the money maker whose,
Fountainhead is from the destitute.
My soul bawls with the time
My weak heart gets weaker with the clock of a,
New season with no vision;
With the splash from the opulent auto and hoping to
Have good sit with the potentate
Believing that time would come while the soul bawls
The ascent of the sun remind them of the further
Dispute with sorrow from there mind while,
The rich extol the supreme being for the luminous
Day with the hope to absorb corruption in the
Consortium.
Joy has no locus to lodge in the heart of the,
Penniless with the bawl of the soul
It journeys down to the opulent heart but,
Not welcomed with remorseful act of
Partaking in vices.
Who will JOY live with?
Copyright © Adeboye Jesutofunmi | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Adeboye Jesutofunmi Poem
SOUL OF THE DESTITUTE
The soul bawls with the time
The soul bawls with the season
It's muteness comes from the countenance
It's enrage comes from the expression
The world is it's reason with no solution,
The solution we have gives us the problem
Where the Moses of the Israelites died with
The hope of seeing the promise land
The soul wail with the questions that;
Why did the good die quickly and easily,
While the nefarious last lengthy?
The affluent are the money maker whose,
Fountainhead is from the destitute.
My soul bawls with the time
My weak heart gets weaker with the clock of a,
New season with no vision;
With the splash from the opulent auto and hoping to
Have good sit with the potentate
Believing that time would come while the soul bawls
The ascent of the sun remind them of the further
Dispute with sorrow from there mind while,
The rich extol the supreme being for the luminous
Day with the hope to absorb corruption in the
Consortium.
Joy has no locus to lodge in the heart of the,
Penniless with the bawl of the soul
It journeys down to the opulent heart but,
Not welcomed with remorseful act of
Partaking in vices.
Who will JOY live with?
Copyright © Adeboye Jesutofunmi | Year Posted 2017
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