With That Which Is Of A Writing Object Poem by Obinna Nwerem

With that which is of a writing object

I wrote with to paint a vivid image

dark colors and sharp edge letters

But I must not be the first to paint words

If I was one without words cut off my hands



With this heart I can love a million

But love not one who cannot love thee back

So now it is said and done with

Through thick and thin one must choose

My last meal I must enjoy and if in it, I be full



This is a truth told while telling a lie

Black tint and so is that of his soul

Bloody hand stains on each page

But still they read on line by line

And I wait for the applauding to finish



This is that which is not easy for some

To paint images in the form of poetry

While the rest surfers in cold groan

And others shower in the tears of others

But I puzzled, must look on