In truth, I speak him aloud
In words, I pick his existence
For he is the lamb, the lamp to your feet
For he is also the lion, your pavilion when all seems wrong.
In letters I adore him
Even beyond the latter years
Your tears now his care
Even when the world yells fear
Still he is fair enough
To bear your regret
And call you into his fold.
In sickness, when all hope seems faded
In every disappointment, when the future seems broken
Like a fracture to the brain
O yes! Yes He is with you
To heal your diseases
To reveal carefully that it’s not disappointment
But “this is my appointment”
All for seasons,
And beyond the seasons
Very much Christ
Is alive to give you rest…
He is here!
He is there!
He is with you dear!
© Tolulope Amao “Spiritual”
This is the word spoken on Sunday
When the lame sees him
And their blame is taken away
When we sing the song of redemption
Despite the state of recession
When those who feel wrong of their sins
Now behold him to sing the song
The song of salvation
It all starts on Sunday.
Sunday, the sunny day
That expresses His glory
That those who are holy
Might gather and show him, the gratitude
Sunday, sun now yields to his sons
That his daughters will live in laughter
And voice be raised
Instead of noise
That heart stays broken
Instead of being harden
It is a scene on Sunday
Sunday more than the ray
But evidence of his coming
That Sunday will someday reckon victory
When this fleeting breath is taken
When this hasten heart
Be put to a stop, according to his act
This starts on Sunday.
Let all heart be subjected
And render praise
Let the mountain be raised
Let the waters be still
Let hope beyond man’s understanding stage
Let his sons, daughters cope
For it is another start
Another chance for us to dance
And grow, glow in him
Till the trumpet sound
Everyone “it’s Sunday”
The alchemist (c) 2016.
It is another start, and phase to face. A new hope starts.
Minding less people’s desire
This is my nature, black and spiritual
For every line so identical
And I’m so desperate to go tactical.
These are the words of an individual
Playing with words, I’m methodical
Let suggestion be raised higher
That am against the law of poetry, not metaphorical
O yes I know, I care to be optional
My mind recommends being optical
And for once be mystical.
This is my arrival
After days of sabbatical
Fighting fear that eats up my words like a cannibal
Until then yields revival to be a survival
Never to be diabolical
Nor be prodigal.
Enemies’ emphasis so radical
Walloping chant going lyrical
I prescribe poetic pharmaceuticals
O yes! I’m phenomenal
Not to be egotistical
But an observation, for I choose this lane, I’m being motivational
Inspired by Earl the Pearl work “extremist”
I feel it is right for every poet to be who they are. And to be free like the waters. There should not be restriction to what you can do. We are all different. We possess different style, view and gift, which makes the world a better…
You have to believe in what you can do, and do it right…. everyone is an extremist in their own way…
© Tolulope Amao