Funeral morn

As the dark night dim

my soul ride in a wet

celestial canoe.

sailing deeply on,

awaiting the morn of my funeral.

I have leap a thousand times

for the day of my demised

which, reached sooner,

as autumn wind.

deliberately piercing my nude skin

now it's dawn,

my lifeless creature lay still

in world most adore ornaments.

epithet that soar in a passer-by

lazy consciousness wit, commune

"world of Fortune has he dwell,

mundane guest of mercy gain birth"

beyond,

a golden silhouette spoke.

"have the world prime

yielding endless starts still holds you?"

morn of departure still lingers

how should it be this morn?

why would this brusque knave

ameliorate me in my hope valley?

where would my weeping senile lady

weary hand holds

now soul journey began

where the paths leads is yet unknown

but my saint testament guide me on.

Ayeni Taiwo

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Photo credit: pexel

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