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

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For love only

I thought I knew strength, what I thought
I felt I needn’t do what I ought
I was wrong, so I blamed my strife
Follow me and you’ll have eternal life
These words I didn’t heed
I was that rebellious seed
Though aware of this grace, I was no bolt in this race
Adam where art thou? I hid my face
I had gone against truth, tasted the forbidden fruit

Surely I still had time, I said
But any hope in this very lie was dead
“The day of the Lord so cometh as a thief…
But I kept sinning, ignoring my belief
“The wages of sin is death…
Mine drew closer with every breath

This cliché have I heard, the thousandth time
Repent or eternal death; the clergy rhyme
So at times I wondered, beyond and under
Is Hell a yonder? Or should I even bother?
If this suffering, they speak is somewhat real
maybe the safe side is where I’d rather be
So yes, I did consider

What if I got saved, or take a break from life o’er there
I would still be lost, neither here nor there
“Thou shall love the Lord your God…
I knew mine wasn’t love; Just the fear of hell
Maybe it was the same if no one could tell
So I walked in hands open, heart closed.

“By me if any man enter in, he shall be saved..
I walked in and didn’t come out the same
I didn’t come out at all.
I thought he was blinded by his love
But it made him see what even I couldn’t
Coz even when I despised him, he loved me
He still does, and always will.
Oh! and this time I love him too

Erudite
© 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