These fleshy hunger pangs, could leave the mind blind.
Quite often the seeds the word since sowed, get crushed because I’m on my grind.
“My brother hustle o, that money we dey find”
quick to forget the search I’m in is of a kingdom kind.
Always remember
to choose Christ, is not really to choose
I remember thinking what it is am I even to lose
these
earthly offers are rather vain, and merely a ruse
the Godfather made an offer I couldn’t refuse.
Ini Brown
(C) 2021
Last night, i got laid
Doubt came to me in my dreams
And had an intercourse with my mind
I am five months gone
Carrying these thoughts around
Hoping to abort this abomination
So, let me break open my insecurities
Hoping to make an omelet
Because today is fry-day
Shots fired
Fear has breathed its last
I am shut fire
Ready to explode at last
This is suicide
I die to rise, call it Easter
Fear skews sight
Jesus fixed it, Bethsaida
I love a meal of eggs,
Egg-xactly omelets.
The way we can whisk two together or maybe more,
Like the intercourse of minds, like the grind of spirits.
And isn’t beautiful, the wet and slip of waters, the freshness like a new day, the way it all becomes familiar and new?
As we sit at tables set before enemies ,
Fellowshipping with sips of living tea and chewing bread alive, making alive,
That the omelet served is faith, the abortion to every doubt.
Isn’t it beautiful, the sparks that fly as iron sharpens iron, and ideas are born for the time they arrive?
Don’t you just love a meal of omelets?
Olaoye Adeleye
Ezeonyeka Godswill
St. Davnique
© 2019
#Fry-day
#FreestlyeFriday
Christ a poet 