Psalm 40:1 -“I waited patiently for the LORD, he turned to me and heard my cry.”

Twigs, once old, long for the gusty winds

Age darkens their skin, green lust drops off

Vigor bids them farewell, leaf changes shelf

Food of light seems too harsh,

Droplets of water seem heavy

Urges chirping birds not to perch

Twig beckons heaviness to depart this life

Patience is not a virtue always.

 

Tarnished woman, waits for societal brickbat

Her unborn child famished in the womb

She breathes slow, with a heart to pour out

Yet the thin air that makes to her lungs

Does not reason out to stop mingling

It plays her filthy self, condensing inside

As she tries hard, alas, to strangle the flow

But the air is patient and longing for her to live.

 

Seed, rotten, wishes to be flushed off

Power of procreation is retarded in him

Death at the core encrusted with sober covering

Somber seed prays life for fellow seedlings

Life covers doom like shiny epitaph on a grave

The writing is clear and crisp

With broken yolk, sojourn would be horrendous

Patience, why? Seed would not live to live the moment of life.

 

I, at life’s mid, long for the end.

Am I being patient with myself?

Want to lurch the bevy of happy folks

Believe there are good times in life

Drink to the honeyed moments of youth

Weather the topsy-turvy doldrums of time

Someday when it comes, would egress out of darkness

Let my patience be patient, would be virtuous at the end.

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Comments
  1. Anusia says:

    very good poem. I liked your style.

    Like

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