My Memoir

By Iworah Emmanuel 17 months ago

Blind times


In the midst of darkness a strangers Silhouette worn with the tears of the stars fell from afar 

Bloated in glory with a smile clothed with the smirk of a fiend

Like a serpent bore fruit to  unveil

As he sucked his way through her red succulent glands

With the fangs of a serpent biting through the footstool of his head

With one stroke could only mean a child would come forth 

Blessed is she who's pouch nurtured a child and palms rubbed a smile

But in the tempest of faith

Would the plate run empty 

Would he run naked the streets of pain

Covered with scars like souvenirs 

Would he hope on a flipped coin

Or would his head tell ten tales that never came

I only hope that society prostitutes her way through this democratic dogs

Before the fogs blinds us throughout it's fall


Should I make this my story or the memoir of a man that never saw tomorrow

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