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WITHERS

WITHERS.



There is a world in my head, and
from the moving of breath, i know.
the night steals a sigh from my breath
and this blank space crawls in my eye.
these nights house a graveyard, even
an illusion which is real'ty
as dreams are. these nights house the soul
lying b'neath the soil of emptiness.
these nights are happy as a child
who knows nothing about darkness
while staying in it. innocence
is a gathered grieving of a
body flow'ng out of its spirit.
these nights are holy with the sins
of darkness; shooting arrows of
lightening and a soul's victim.
these nights are as distant mountain
flutters of roses 'n' hidden breath
of whispering spirits. these are
in the night of grieving laughters;
in its elation of sadness.
these are nights of my moving breath.
and its mournfulness. is gladness;
in its awe is living behind
the breath and breath'ng before the eye.
what darkness is compared ' these nights?


"words from the innocent mind"

Akinwale Peace Akindayo

Philip Peace

Source: unknown.

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NIGHT SYMPHONIES.
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.
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Akinwale Peace AkindayoPhilip Peace