(in madness no one has a funeral!)


With the paddle through the storm
so through the head to reflect,
so through the heart to perceive;
the sea gulls aiming for heights
and pirates gulp rum in their feasts.
Oh … you…so conceited veins!
Through the blood blossoming flock…
stiff facial haired shed hot tears,
by the shore the bastards raise
the dead, courtesans spread legs
in waves, hands’ applause in fun!
It’s an old clown, who throws
up the tower from the sand’s
to see (in madness no one
has a funeral!) Are they
by chance living with the dead?
In consent, smile and weeping
have victim, and hindered sword
to freedom has been frenzied
in the hurry of Nature
to lay hands (spineless graveyard!)
While the storm shivers through eyes
oppressed. The grey face bleeds
beside the bloodstream figments,
images of the mute flow;
the city dogs are foamy.
A thirsty slayer in gold
sees Omnipotent logic.
Editor: Obinna Eruchie

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