Why do I fear the stars – Part 2

They do not wear a dress of courage
Nor a garb of thorns
My shiny mysterious sisters of the night, lighting the skies.

They do not need to be reminded, they do not forget.
Holding a billion promises, secret kisses, and passionate pleas.
They are witnesses, even when bones be ash.

Did you know you can bet on stars?
That you’ll never lose a bet on their suicide?
And agree or not
You must agree to disagree,
Their terrorism is a necessity.

I mean,
Suicide bombers are looked on with a mix of contempt and awe,
We see lives cut short in their prime,
By the most suffering is ever known to mankind.

We are shaken by the workings of a twisted mind,
And in retrospect
We all must agree
There is something to respect,
In a blood sacrifice for a belief.

Yet I digress.

This is about the stars and why I fear them.

They do not wear a dress of courage
Nor a garb of thorns

There is no self-preservation in their answer to duty’s call
They are courage in the flesh.

They do not need to be reminded, they do not forget.
That they matter and their sacrifice counts.
I mean,
Who motivates the stars to shine?

And did you know stars must burn to shine?
That they die with each burning?

Yet night after night without fail,
My shiny mysterious sisters of the night,
Circle the expanse of the clouds,
in a dance to the death.

This is why I fear the stars.

St. Davique
© 2019

GOD’S LETTER

This love that leaves a bitter taste on my tongue
Is the sacrifice I promised I would have for you despite your flaws
You give me your heart in pieces
your brokenness is what I long for
the only thing I want from you

Mending is what I do with you
This process that shows you the love I hope you see
And I hope imprints on you
I do not give your heart back in pieces
I give you this new one, designed to be bound to me

Your gaze makes me feel like
I’m all there is in your heart
I tuck your hair behind your ear
Hold your hand, look at your face
I want you to follow me
I definitely have a lot to show you

IFIOKABASI OKOP
© 2019

Death and the Imago Dei

God says
I AM; space
shape-shifts on
His constancy
swinging and swerving in
and out, like flames
lit, waned, relit
by undying hands

Existence is
His filling , pouring
His infinite into
finiteness, a
creating, a
gaining fade, a death
process climaxed on
a Roman cross

His dying is living
life, is glorious
process played out
In moulding perfect
man, with His blood and body for
water and clay, art
and sacrifice, creation’s
true portrait

Ikenna Nwachukwu
© 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

Love

My understanding of Love is beyond a feeling of affection, attraction, admiration or infatuation… Love is “ALL OF THESE as much as IT IS A SACRIFICE AND IT BURNS WITHOUT A REASON.”

Love reminds me of a mother’s Love

Don’t matter what you look like, talk like, seem like or be like, mothers Self burn in love for their kids.

But even more love is genuine Love between a man and a woman…. Because a father and mother’s Love could be biased. It could be as a result of you being theirs.

My Definition of LOVE is The Love that has no answer to WHY!!!! Love above the 5 senses.

People talk about a thin line between Love and Hate.

but I beg to differ… There is no hating within the realms of LOVE! And outside that realm is just a neutral ground.

If you loved me until I made a mistake… You never Loved me!

Toby Martins

(c) 2018

SWEET SMELLING PSALM

I had an alabaster box. It contained some ointment, a very fragrant and rare perfume. I have kept it for
years, hoping that sometime, someday, I might find a good use for it. It was an ointment of excellent fragrance, very rare and expensive. I knew it was meant for noble use.
Each time I attempted to pour it on myself, I felt a check in my heart. A restraint from an invisible hand, urging me to wait. Many have come to beg for this precious ointment I owned. You see, my heart is very tender and I am
philanthropic at heart yet I knew from deep within that this ointment was for service beyond the realm of philanthropy.
My most trying moment came when my own dear brother became ill. We did all we could but he only got worse. We spent all we had on medication and hospital bills. All, except my box of ointment. Continue reading