Tag: Carefully

Woman

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Woman!

A Special Specie carefully crafted of the Crafter.
Different kind of the same, bone of a bone yet complete in entirety, as we replicated skeletons when Adam took his nap.
Created with love and compassion as a vital ingredient, One whose seed will continually trample on the head of the serpent.

Wife!

Complements, nurtures, supports, submits strengthens. With the ability to build, grow, hold, and develop.
A warrior whose weapons physical swords cannot comprehend, a friend, one who is willing to stand till the end.

Mother!

A sacrificial being, willing to lay down her life so her youngling can live
A home many are eager to run to
A builder, impacting principles to the generation next, leaving legacies for the world today see.

A fruit bearing tree,
A warrior whose sight frightens the enemy, as she constantly stands as a watch for her family.

A prolific woman, wife and mother
Standing firmly on the virtues of proverbs 31
Blessed is everyone that comes in her contact, at work, at home, in church, for the favour she Carries flows through her to everyone, and no one is left unloved, no, not one.

Mother!

Fathers Confidant
A plus to the body of Christ

The world may bring different definitions of who a mother is, but we find the true definition when we look at you, for you represent THE Truth, JESUS CHRIST!

Mother!
Beyond the title, its the whisper of God to the Holy Spirit saying “Mould Her”
For it takes a special strength and training to be you.

See the Sons you’ve raised.
See the legacies you’ve made.


If there’s a time to celebrate you, then it’ll be today, yesterday, tomorrow and forever!

Happy Mothers’ Day!

Zoe Ziva.
©2023

Crippled Mind

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A farmer caught a pigeon
Inside a cage, he nurtured it
Now, the farmer to the bird, was mean
He deprived it of life’s necessities.

The bird was kept in the house
Denied access to sunlight,
It grew up believing in the non-existence of light
After all, it never saw the outside world.

Years later the farmer died
And the farmer’s son, aloud said:
“I have no need for this bird
It is old and as good as dead”

Out he took the cage,
Its door he opened expecting flapping wings,
The bird which should have flown in rage
Stood there, paralysed with astonishment.

The farmer took the bird out of the cage
And carefully set it on its feet
The bird with wings flew not
Its mind was already crippled.

Many of us are like this proverbial bird
JESUS CHRIST has set us free
But still, we hold tight to the past
Refusing to let go of a slave’s mentality

We all have been redeemed
Let’s free ourselves from an old slavery
Let’s soar to higher heights
And not be crippled by our pasts.

Ajegbomogun Olufunke
© 2020

Power

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I pick my words carefully,
Just like picking white beans amidst the brown

I search for my words carefully,
Just like searching for diamonds in the mud

For words can hurt and draw some hate
Words can destroy and finely create

Words can bring life and can bring death
Words can bring courage and can bring fret

Words fire faster than the ‘bullet full gun‘,
Can murder the next man with a bulletproof vest

My tongue is an organ full of ferocious words,
Always ready to unleash terrifying thorns

Like a sword it can slice, divide and tear down
At times i wonder if this red demon can be dismantled, restructured, redesigned, painted with grace and seasoned with salt to speak positively

I’ve come to realize that whatever I say can become a self fulfilling prophecy
My words can either lift me or drift me,
Raise me or erase me,

Words can liberate and can oppress
They can cause to blossom and can suppress

My words are the most powerful weapons that I posses
My word is power!

Princess Pirinye
©2020

Lover

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Your heart like an ember
I know you remember
The moments we shared and the lights that it rendered
The lilies we gathered
For your love was an anchor
It held us together
Even when I repelled and was attracted by doubt and depression

Your love is faith
It conceals the thoughts of my heart from the fatigues of unbelief
Your love is an ancient word, hidden in the bedrocks of my heart
Agape, a fruit Stemming forth from within
Being pruned carefully not considering any retardation to yield
Those lashes you took, for me
With a spear through your hips to spare this unfit
This is deep!
Chills through my body—you didn’t give in
You gave up when there was nothing worth fighting for
It’s finished, I mean I was finished
A recreated piece

Adethatwrites
© 2020

LET’S MAKE MAMMA PROUD

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The one; who sat and watched my infant head?
While I slept in your beautiful cradled arms.
The one who held me dearly, like a craft, never to be broken.
Pain is driven off in her arms, arms of love that never harms.
She cast away my fears and with loving warmth dries away my tears.
Her eyes are like stars to behold, they give me hope beyond despair.

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Touches from you made me smile.
I was nurtured like a plant to flourish,
Was polished carefully till I looked pretty and beautiful.
Guilty she felt when I had not gotten plenty,
Yet with care she made “this little” satisfy my every need.

Who taught my infant lips to pray?
Who trained me in the way of God and His word?
Told me I would have life less without having the Life of Christ.
Her love is incomprehensible, she calls it agape.
She encouraged me to be loving too because love never fails.
Never look back, heaven is before you. That is her greatest story.

When thou art feeble, old and grey,
I will be your strength, your fulfillment and comfort.
Your smile I will make as I feel your heart with joy everyday.
And one day emerge the man you are proud to call son.
I will take you to church even when you rest in peace.
But till then this is my piece for you;
MY MOTHER.

Adethatwrites
© 2019

Lies At Dawn

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Without the stars appearing on a special
Night, the Angels singing sweet solemn innocent
Tones, jingles, praises to the mean
World that has seen eons
Of pains, love, gratitude, rejections that overwhelmed
Beauties and ugliness we see as tittle and nominal

I wish to be etched in your heart not as a nominal
Singer, but the beat you call special
The sound that leaves you overwhelmed
Our eyes a spark note of innocent
Thoughts that deified us eons
And mortals who are not mean

Men whose inclinations are mean
Can’t even have us as nominal
gods, but great fellows who are eons
Away from their realms. The one they’d call special
Species of rare grace; innocent
Warriors whose tales gets them overwhelmed

Though life may try to get us overwhelmed
It will never make us mean
Or rid us of the innocent
Company of the earthlight that is not nominal
Or make the moonlight serenade less special
Though it has romanced spirits for eons.

We seem to be overrated eons;
Cowered, callously, carefully overwhelmed
Lovely, little, lowly beings called special
Lower than the angels’ mean
Myrmidons, to the paladin nominal
Praying to be seen as innocent

But words cannot be innocent
We are actually eons
Beings that can never be nominal
Beings grave, gentle griefs overwhelmed
In their search of mean
Means of becoming special

To be as innocent as saint Simeon
The special eon that dwells
In this mean tent.

Simeon Chidi
©2019