Phillips Tayo 11 months ago

What A Wrong Person!

A poem of wisdom teaching on the values of meeting the right people for the right path to 🚧 right.The poet analysis a deep recourse to his youthful mistakes.

Show a man not slipping toes,
Maybe once, evergreen righteous,
In all the rays of lights beams,
Slouch bevy of commitment split,
Of been a boy till manhood,
I will say not born of a woman,
With the hunk of the spiteful oil,
Flat in his flesh, soul, spirit,
If he walks on the mortal dust,
Then he will be his woes,
Woes unto his 💋 lips
From birth, From hunk palms,
Not even libation, dutiful wishes,
Can trend vicissitudes threat.

Not of the masculine vascular,
Not of the feminine vestige,
Life cannons brims the swords,
Falling defies the eyes 👁️ lids,
Even stark open, close nakedly,
It is more of certainty cloistered,
Of how more wrongs than rights,
On the lanes of sidestep tracks,
Which every man of kindred,
Walk along to the lands,
Our heads takes the numb body,
To transverse for pilgrimage.

As human plies places,
With our paces of adventures,
If alone, the journey lone fateous,
The elders concurred ultimately
Just like the biblical Jacob,
Who dint of deeds led astray,
Yet comes to meet Esau's nemesis,
Whom he spurned birthright,
Wrongly for the rightly.

In my 👁️ eyes...gaze of stoic,
If someone is to be at the riverside,
Never comes with a slow-walker,
Whom the shrill, screech voices,
Of the nocturnal voices, echoes
Makes hearty shake, solemn,
To reach waterside, return early
Doubtful, daunting, doggedly.
Pray the water-gourd brew clean water,
Set home under 🔦 dark darkness.

If for a trading journey,
Width, wide for goods, gains,
Set forth with a betraying gorge,
That set attack nightmare alert,
Against your eyes 👁️ speck,
Holding hearty wholesome,
Of like brothers, sisters
Sailing home for jolly ride,
The fugitive could lay snare,
Snitch the golden rubies, cowries
Hawking gawks, spread toiling,
To start again akin opening stalls,
Stark between weevil's cobweb.
The task...

Of the loathe juggernaut,
Men menace the skins,
Of the hardened skirmish,
Never let the bitchy 🐩 dog sleep,
Taking the smiles swords,
None of the silent 🔕 gems,
Whom marble hit maliciously,
Never hardened, hurt, haunted,
Hands deeds symbolic,
Yet, the wrong persons 👥 fangs,
Claws around their necks,
Yet, the lines might not belch,
Not to tote 🗡️ daggers denting.

My mother said...
The journey dark unto the sand,
Of time, wrong persons infiltrate,
Say seek them not of faces,
Say seek them not of their spirits,
Say seek them nil outward instinct,
Inwardly, what a wrong person,
To come, coast, chaperon,
Your journey of fellow pilgrims.
Make time tarry far timeless.
If the silent 🔕 waves 🌊 shucks,
Never look afar, nooks nearer,
What a wrong person,
In of the between.
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