Faeo 'Lyre' Clive (16th August 1989 / Isseke - Ihiala, Anambra State.)

 Alive,
albeit
one may plumb
to my another.

Who am I?
An animal? A plant?
Both,
from the graces of the demi-urge;
hence
I am one.

Oh!
a fashion of my nature
stood aloof
and too shy to behold
any unfavourable temperature
yet in a wanderlust
to reaching out a neighbourhood.

Like a pseudopodia
personified;
a Mimosa Pudica, too.
Dont let!
Your lifeless hand.
In this fashion,
wore to my days of nature.
Whom
an unfriendly shaft of wind
or light
would betake to a rime,
just a kiss, softly
that not a touch
native to my balm.

An antenna would rather report
Like a pudica can do,
intil a fencing of my bower.
Yet like a stoic
pierced in simplicity;
I sacrifice
friending to all weather
knowing fully well
that all are natural
and nature, owed graces.

Thus
any unfriendly touch
folds me to the cage.
 breathes life and had
intil the Earth swallowed
_this unnatural sleep;
upon my farewell compliment.

Mark me!
Intil my hour, tick
must no hand
of the dial;
be Janus's, Maia's, Julius's,
Augustus's or Christlike's calendar,
myself must carved;
for these conquerors past
in the ecstacies of their ends
marketed in the advantages
of their breathing-time
casting upon us and beyond
intil hence, stood
without a voice for it.
Come what sorrow can,
this wise had mine
upon no patience, staying;
sweeping my way,
this albeit in my meed.
Hence
of my Clock,
this piece of arc
to wait upon
the vessels of mine
I carved and put from me.
_whereat reposed
these gone of me,
to tick to that hollow-ground
of my heart
_of nothing first create.