Sored

Here lies love’s disgrace
Agelessly evading traps and snares
To put a face on it
But finally I have caught it
In the chains of a definition
As accurately as it delivers it’s pain
It hides in a sunny bright day
A bright day bordering
the edge of a storm
A moment of sunlight spectrum
Suddenly eclipsed
By anger from the sky
Hate disguised carefully
In an opaque fragile membrane
As thin as a breath
that membrane’s name is love
A mere ruffling or rupturing
Then hell lets loose
As poisonous splinters
fleeing angrily
in all directions
in all known space dimensions
On impact redoubling
Then multiplying
Restarting the destructive mission
A candy with a rock at it’s core
Abrasions for your teeth
Oh don’t even start with friendship
bulkily more deceptive
leading you on a winding trail
Your foresight blocked from sight
A winding trail that twists

Into a mazed, layered labyrinth

Then the splinters come flying in
From all directions, from outer and within
Till all companions are lost
And you are gnashing all alone
The crux of it all;
why in a social communion
Should dogs and tigers ever convene at all?

© 2011 Tolu Akinyemi

The Graveyard Bench (A valentine’s day poem)

For somedays I have been worried about writing a poem for Valentine’s day,  then I walked by a graveyard not too long and somewhere  in the midst of the graves was a gloomy concrete bench,  got really fascinated wondering why anyone would put a bench in a graveyard (finally figured that out though, I  hope you do too), I even took a picture…and  a poem…

 

 

A faraway look, and palms on knees

Among  permanent stone-cold beds

For men whose living snore permanently

Like the sombre bench at the graveyard

That only sad and lonely people seat upon

 

The eve of another fourteenth of the second

Her bench still lounges amongst the graves

Silent, except for the rustling of leaves

Seated alone, surrounded  by  planted stones

And lullabies  from lonely winds sullenly blowing

 

She wants it  in a colourful, lively  garden

Seated upon it with someone who cares

Exchanging smiles, hand held in hand

But she is stuck on  this cold graveyard bench

In the company of men turned meals to worms

 

Who knows, what miracle is at hand?

Tomorrow might herald the dawn of her smiles

With an exchange for a  lovely bench in the parks

A rainbow in the sky and a roof of butterflies

What miracle is at hand, who knows?