Happiness
is feeling the strain leave your face
letting go and watch your grip fade
joy makes it way like a river welling from your insides to your heart and registers a smile
By the grace of God…
you are here
you can rest
The battle is won
the work is done
– Ezeonyeka Godswill
(c) 2021
Life is that way sometimes
Takes you uphill and presents
You with the luxury of returning
to where you first began
Work is that way sometimes
Regardless of your love for the climb
your bent back will boast of burdens borne
and your reward is just another climb
Rest is that way sometimes
It titillates you to the hilltop
Then bores a hole deep in your soul
So you go climbing for her again
Four verses four lines each
Living could be more than hills on threes
Keep making that trip to the top
and sow seeds of you with every step
– Ezeonyeka Godswill
(c) 2021
Maybe we look for the flaws in others
to remind ourselves that we are not alone
Maybe we know that “to be honest…”
Is how we tell people that perfect is momentary
To be broken is human
To be human is broken
Maybe we hold on to our pieces
to make-up our stained glass beauty
Cycles are how we make sense of this globe
Always on a journey to where we’ve been before
We cannot stop, pauses hurts our pulses
So our heart aches for more courses
The good news is soon this too will end
You and I will give up our floors and flaws
Someone else will renew this game that we spoilt
What will become of us rests in today’s choice
– Ezeonyeka Godswill
(c) 2021
Sorry God! Sorry for the failure we have become
Our hearts have been sold out to the wickedness of this world,
We have made into history – your doctrines and instructions
Made available for us.
Man against man, white against black,
Hate for love and the circle is endless
For our hands have been soiled
Covered in the many evils we carry
Like a second skin.
Walking everyday in search of the next victim,
Even your sanctuary has become a cemetery
For the burying of evil deeds.
Sorry God! I tender this tale for all humanity.
– Words of Edet
(c) 2020
Leaving behind all I’ve labored for under the sun
This body of mine has been subjected to much pain and torture
Would it be ready to leave this earth during the rapture?
Or just someday in the future?
Would I be on His right side or the other side?
Would it be a day of joy or tragedy?
That day, I would have to give an account of all my activities
All that would matter would be judgement Cause all of my possessions would matter no longer
Then the mortal me will become immortal
And the imperfect me would have a chance to become perfect
But if I be judged by what I deserve
Then there wouldn’t be need for judgement cause my heart’s already filled with guilt
But by virtue of His grace
I’ll strive for the good confession while on earth
Cause by it my sins are cleared without a trace
Boldly I can now come to His throne of grace
And I will keep sharing my salvation story
That though I had fallen short of His glory
Christ in me will forever be my hope of glory.
Victor Clement
© 2020
Matthew 18:14
Let the little ones come to me
For theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven
Let them glide in milk’s cream wheels
And spurn round brownies guarded by horses
Do not feed them moth from empty tins
Never leave them at home in a sink
Bring’em all into my merriment
Father must not watch them die
– Rebekah E.
©2020
Awake in the belly of winter
Amidst an entourage of snowy shadows
Too late yet early
Brave in Jubilee’s race
All dog sledges had
Phased through the 44 moons
And now it’s extra time
Whistle in 30 seconds
Will end a week’s millennium
Days for years
Gone bye and dry
With a monarch’s corpse left behind
Whatever is in a minuscule minute
Should not be denied before the cock crows
To summon the giant reaper
– Rebekah E.
(c) 2020
Drip drop, drip drop
Soon enough creates a pond
Flip flop, flip flop
Booted once makes a thud
Observation is traversing
In a field of motionless activity
Eyes on a water sphere above
And then on the growing rivulet below
Ears trace the patter of soft unsteady feet
Listening as moments age
– Rebekah E.
(c) 2020
Christ a poet 