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 ©2022 Click here to view next post Read: Lucid Photo credit: pexel