Story says,
I was born as a golden boy,
In coal city
To ordinary lovers.
Story says,
My flaws outnumbers my character.
Still, great stories forces me up,
Pushes me to the brink and beyond.
Story says,
Many will not make the peak
Unless, the stories, their study
Becomes light or spirit.
Ugwu David C
©2023
What’s in my hands?
The flag of kingdom built with light beams
A torch burning with the passion of Christ’s dream
A Divine treasure given to a chosen few,
cognizant that the sight from silence isn’t always a golden view
What’s in my hands?
Mare skin, bones and tissue
Ability, to make what he wills of life’s issues
Responsibility, Ben Parker’s words again reflected
to who much is given, much is expected.
Ini Brown
©2021
Just as gold is purified and refined by fire, we believers are golden vessels unto Christ.
Imani Dokubo
I wear this spectacles of tinted glasses
I see these golden flashes, rays, colours that sits well with me
I mean these oval screens before my eyes make me see better
I don’t eat on Sundays before solemn services
To eat before paying Him a respect is to belittle him
This spectrum of mine must be what God wants for all men
No frowns or you could lose the crown.
I’m free to give the bible my own voice
It’s no noise, I’m helping God create a community
I mean a village of serious spiritual servants, you know?
My code of conduct is God’s standard
The bible isn’t enough
I make it whole
Symolean
© 2021
One step in front of the other
I watch you plant them
Like a weary traveler who has lost his way
Your back is burdened with a sack full of disapproval
And a lifetime’s worth of disappointment and doubt
But you shoulder it like it’s nothing
You smile at me, golden boy
And make me believe there is beauty to
The cracked burden of the tortoise
You’re just a little eccentric
I tell myself, every time I catch a glimpse of your pain
I believed I could heal you
You made me believe I was,
And I trudged behind you gladly
Cherishing every moment you put the pack down
And opened it.
But you never got rid of anything in the pack, did you?
I think you loved the sweet torture
Of owning exquisite pain
I learned to appreciate the beauty in pain
And see the hope dressed in disappointment
So I did nothing
Till you slipped right off the edge
And scattered in a burst of gold dust
Slapping my face with the truth I should have seen
had your beautiful, golden smiles not blinded me;
That I had no power to make you happy
That love could be as strong as pain
Or could be its equal
So as I stand at the edge of your cliff
I want to hate you
But I don’t
I will remember us as we were
And I will choose to be happy, golden boy
For both of us, I will choose life.
Miracle Ifechukwu
© 2019
Far away
Away as the waters that once finds its dwelling at shore
How far is far
Are you talking about endless oceans or a stary sky?
I have lost my rhythm at the sound of the endless ocean
Scared to trace the pathway
Which I once trusted as the Broadway
The way to the Broadway can be deceptive
But we are receptive to the leading of the rhythm within
The one that leads to the path of life
The path of life
The crown of eternity
Grizzled with Gold and emerald
Joining the Herald
The cherubs and seraphs in the song of redemption
The very redemption that liberates
The one that exposes me to my strengths
The joy is unending
This song ushers me to rivers of living water
Most times I hear more about angels singing
But poetry is hardly talked about
Does the angel write?
Is poetry their kind?
If they ever wrote I wonder what colour the words displayed
But I think to myself, if Christ is a poet then maybe their is a trace that leaves clues
Maybe they write in blue
Or green, or pink,
No, I think golden, because of the golden scroll
Maybe not
Maybe black or brown or no color
Maybe their ways is a mystery to unravel
I think a greater mystery to unravel is the way they study their master through us, the chosen once, the once who have given themselves to the Word
It teaches me the true way of a living master
That conquered me in my rebellion
Adonai
That divided the river Nile
The Niles hear and see
They are receptive to the masters voice
Same way they can be with ours
Cause the signet has been placed on us
Imani Dokubo
The Alchemist
© 2019
Years pass and she remains a sister to me
A perfect relationship divorce can’t sever
There is no ‘more‘ to want
Her love is complete and I am satisfied
Until the 99th night she passed at my house
She wakes at midnight to find my fingers on her breast
With a push from her I land on the floor
On getting up I see the hurt and unbelief in her eyes as tears roll down her cheeks
There is no explanation to her or myself of my actions
No words are exchanged
The wait for dawn is like waiting for Jesus’ second coming
I curl on the floor while she clutches herself tightly on the bed with occasional sniffs
I die a thousand death in a thousand ways, all by suicide
She leaves as morning comes
Apologies are meant for explainable crimes, not inconceivable ones
This crime should not be apologized for nor forgiven
A lot of water pass under the bridge and today I cry;
I cry because she visits last week and wraps me in a hug
We go for walks and she leans on me like old times
Like I didn’t abuse her
She has a golden heart but the most I expect are patches;
A hand sewn cloth thread with caution
She disappoints me with total abandonment and oblivion of the past
I cry for I don’t deserve her yet I have her
Her name is Grace
ChyD
© 2019
Christ a poet 