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The Grave Room Maker by Akinwale Peace

Akinwale Peace

The Grave Room Maker.
The grave room Maker-
He has; the heart of the wind, bank of clouds,
The cru'lty of rain fr'm the eye of the sky.
He has; the ruins of a volcano, smiles
of a beast 'n' laugher of a crocodile.
The grave room Maker-
He forms darkness to the Worlds' Earth; the throat
of tears, trusted;- from his evil mind's art.
His silver clouds consumes crowds as the dew
from the eye of the sky on vale and flow'rs.
The grave room Maker-
Wheels clock up 'neath the sky as his bang bang
attracts souls to rest in dark glooms of death;
as his wrangl'ng hammer makes more room for corpse-
yet undead but he prays to make headway.
The grave room Maker-
Souls pray to live while he pray to earn more;
He did his best to make grave rooms of Gold
for clans to buy, hence he earns more earned gold,
he became a god of dark dank frank holes.
The grave room Maker-
he became a god of dark dank frank holes;
He knows something next to nothing but wealth;
wealth to life as folks of dead corpse to grave,
He ne'er thought of his 'ntil he made his last.
"words from the innocent mind"
             Philip Peace


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For Ikeoluwa.

I have sailed in the ocean — on
your body's warm drenched spot axis,
and i have felt the touch of your
freezing burning hands and cold words:
you said some soft words gently in
my ear on a cold night. and my
body is a tree, it rustles
when winds beat. winds like your mutters.

I have a whirling desire
that we are over the 9th edge;
grabbing, rocking, licking, tasting —
and the passion flows 'n' action shows.
your whole body defines a lot
even when i see nothing but
the voluptuous pillows of a
tired bed, calling me to sleep.

Slowly, this pace beats rapidly
like a running fire. and i'm
burning coldly on a meet with
your whitish round thorax muscle.
glorious! your body is a bike
and i'm good at riding roughly.
slide and glide, make a symphony
of our salvation on this cold night.

Akinwale Peace AkindayoPhilip Peace