This Lives Truly With Worth Poem by Adeosun Olamide

Blossoms, withers be the lives in this known shore of earth,
With sweetness and fragrance blooming and shriveling away,
With beauty unused, unknown, untapped
For many them the powers of the gods posses,
Yet bound and cuffed from birth by fate
They shrink and frail away on the path of misery,

Will thou, a little angel, appease the night and day gods
Wilt not only robes,
For many unknown suffer if not die in this path unknown
Yet, forever they live swelling in heart,
With strings of hairs passed to generation unborn

Jingle the bells of the towers
Lest the town die of no messiahs
If perhaps did
And you only shall their memories keep….

On second look, I see ghosts’
Tired, more weak and very feeble
Slowly, crawling on the roads, to and fro…
How strange, they journey nowhere

One I find the outskirt of his past,
On notes written by tireless seers
They say…
On the night before his death, his suicide,
His heart shall beat faster and his strength shall zenith
His beauty, courage shall glow in the burning flames of his dreads
That night his veins that strange joy shall have a feel,
The winds shall breeze his skin
And his bones for ones shall crack in dark laughter,
But then it is a night, an evil one
Covered with goodness
For the day to come shall he (Death) his life lay claim to….

And shall the sun cease to set
Or the moon ceases to rise
Or the stars fail to litter the sky
Absence his presence?
They shall weep upon his unmarked grave
And spew in disgust at (For) his life
For not an ounce of gold nor silver
Nor a jewel of beads, or coin
Be buried with him…
Only a piece, of black garment and his name
The evil he did in his deeds shall be…

I, borrowed to weep shall,
For him, fate greed with miserly