God's Acre
So funny, that what is left these days are men in long trousers who look up to boys in shorts.
No one to break the wheel,
so they remain in circles.
They, the mid ones who are supposed to lead the young ones.
And so the world never changes,
Just the boy who wants to be a baby.
Heavy is the heart that pours these words,
Sorry are the ones hoping for something in a line of nothing .
Entrapping positions placed,
A hall of servitude,
Of ugly quagmires,
That for these bodies that once had souls,
have been made soulless in this precarious arena.
Nothing naughty nurtures a liquidity of luxury,
for everything comes with a price.
Placing bet on life's tariff was completely off the hook,
which made greatness abated because of the nuisance
caused by the new ones.
Like the woman who dwells in God's acre ululating in a public secret,
for the despicable world she bore that now burns.
What can dispel her agita?
And so, here we are, all together
as we sing our songs of lamentations and bitter anguishes of the past and dawdle today,
while contemplating on tomorrow.
Hmm! A sign of exhaustion,
From the shallow to the bobbling
From the bobbling to the shallow
why is the event on repeat?
Let the reason be because the next plan is no longer in the nest carved by one of the best among the rest who acted as guests in this wide range of test.
Detest is the taste which can't quench my thirst,
First, I need a fence to protect my chance incase It becomes tensed.
Mm! sense, not common, I known,
but in my defense, it is less than I expect,
This thing called common sense.
Hence, boys want to be men,
Men want to be boys,
So obsessed with the absence
and ignore the presence
that when the time finally comes for the switch,
they all become distanced.
Wait, cut the chase.
There is the price to cover the expenses of what they ordered for,
but all they can afford is,
Reluctance.
Copyright © Onyinye Maureen Kenneth | Year Posted 2026
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