TALE OF THE HEAVENS

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

Wrongly Tuned

For quite some time now,
My ideology about you has been skewed,
I realized I have been grazing on the wrong grass, but how?
You see, I have always yearned for us to be tight, like a nut and screw,
But the only problem is I have been using a wrong tool to drive,

I wanted a star but my lines were flat,
I wanted your warmth but my body was far,
I wanted to dance to your tunes but I was tuned wrongly,

But today, after hearing what he had to say,
Rightly, I right my wrongs,
Now, I worry less about Your voice,
And more about knowing you
Come to think of it,
What kind of a son yearns for the voice of the father,
When he doesn’t even know how his words sound like,
So this morning, I seek right!

g.O.D
© 2018