The fountain Arena

  A fortress we are made; Through the mounting praise  We have raised To the triune canonical lord. Whose hands have raised our lives. By one man we are beaten  By another, we have risen  In his heart, he lifts the unsound soul Fasten to the boundless pit again  At a priceless sinner prided pain. Soft and slowly; mundane and strong, Solo and brass, chord and string; The heart that's bruised is here to sing, New worship, of a new age. Ayeni Taiwo ©2022 Read: Other poems from this blog Previous post Photo credit: pixebay

Photo source: pixel.com It arrives as the babel rebirth Dreaming higher and stronger For a resourceful teller Offering your lust to our Hypothesized hope gauger Mounting upon hills as its frivolity pathway For the lost worker we blend with On the hope that our heart will merry  Across the deserted stars  And the bloody moons amidst blind sky  Shaped by the movement of the restless cloud Sketching tales of unknown folklore As our wandering eyes dwells sail Awaiting her handsomest bride Holding all heads on to the lark crest As we sail gentle into your days water Looping in your grandeurs and Utopic breath Calling from times immemorial  Till today's of memory craft Come swiftly, shine more thou lonely sojourner. You You native sailor of unknown, drive freely along the green skies  to lead our hunted desire in its own forthcoming dinner glamours. Ayeni Taiwo ©2022 Read more: other poem from this blog Previous post Image credit: pexel

Mother, The gift of nature to MANkind; giver of joy of all kind; bearer of hope and classless band. Mother,  the uncoach musician, on whose mouth flows soft symphony that lures my lagging eyes to rest. Mother, the mirror of my being, the goddess of my world, the warrior without a shield. Click  to read she-idol Thou, crafter of timeless spell, a bound carriage of cryptic cell whom traveller of paradise sought. Mother, in thy eyes are written chronicles records of untold ode. Ayeni Taiwo ©2022 Photo credit: pexel Tap to read more poems read previous post

bone of spoken birth natured in a morning scent monk of unusual set sought to make a cool breathe to sustain shaky winking sight. selah! a voice I heard In the modern hunt accused an aftermath hazy sage court  spoken by a young burly cot tied for a clashing whites nail of the mouth court Selah! why this cot? why not a heritage lot? why Joseph flee learned? when hills are mounts and mount are hills we long for each other's embrace As the brotherhood bone speaks again. strings of my root unclad  from world savagery band be mine and I forever be glad. Ayeni Taiwo ©2022 Read next post Photo credit: pexel Previous post