10 Eyes

In attempts to be more adept at poetry,
I try to see everything as an analogy of an analogy,
I make little lines from the footprints of my pen,
Intended to paint, clear or animate this, that, now or then.

Its an intricate tapestry of perspective and effect,
Itself offering a distraction difficult to reject;
I watch the world tick its details, past a few chores at me;
Intent on noticing the tiniest of implications, scene and unseen.

If perhaps, like me, you’ve hoped to grow;
I hope you’ve seen the eyes in a row.

The Niel
© 2019

Let these lines stand proof i said it

I will script beauty on tomorrow’s face
I will forge next year into my productivity phase
But just in case I forget to remember to begin
Let these lines stand proof I said it

Time and tide twiddle thumbs
Idly laying languid lessons
We grow and lose our best selves, on our journey to finding us.
Let these lines stand proof I said it

Bet. Everything will make it known. Even
Birds. Twi-twi-twitting, heralding the coming
Birth. Pangs only last the night, no more room to
Let. These lines stand proof I said it

For so long I died to dine with him
For a taste of life and love I sat with him
I rose from that table thorn free
Let these lines stand proof I said it

Such will be history’s song
The stories we paint with every heartbeat
To live to love to give to all
Let these lines stand proof I said it

An army that wins with no casualties
Floating on faith through a storm of uncertainties
Many sick healed would be our reality
Let these lines stand proof I said it

A month is surely time enough
With all five fingers put to work
May it be the one that fulfils it
Let these lines stand proof I said it

Ezeonyeka Godswill
UC Truth
Nonso
St. Davique
©2019

A Portrait of Sacrifice, with Blood as Paint

A band of butcherers chant,
As they drag crying sheep through,
Smashed rocks and dirt clouds,
Swarming, to slaughter point,

Its fluffy coat sheds, to mingle,
With mud puddles and grim slime,
It swims in darkened blood,
And sways, to torturers’ feet stomping,

As shredding skin paints the path,
To the altar, with red hue,
A portrait of life takes shape:
Suffering, to death,

But if through its last cries,
It sees losing self could be worship,
It’ll fall, to paint its dying as,
Living worship to God, “Sacrifice Infinite”.

Ikenna Nwachukwu
© 2018