GLORY OF THE PAST

0

Gone like the dead were the days,
I stool and sneeze in and out of
abundance.
Like as if possessed by the demon
of wealth.
Why am i today telling the old
tale?
I once dined with Life in its
smiling years,
Playing and toying with the virtues
of valor.
In the midst of broad but blunt
spines,
That today place my apparel in a
state called tattered.
Where are those youthful days?
When few pennies could have
replicated,
To multiples spent with
principles.
What a shame; on the face of yesterday.
Nature came to me in the calm
atmosphere,
Beating discipline into my ear
drums.
Spraying my olfactory with the
aroma of the future.
What a pity, I yielded only to
dancing.
I could hear the soft tone of my
conscience,
Kicking spells of calmness into my
brain.
Recalling to me, my frivolous
entities,
Yet I kept building a golden
castle in air.
Life has just being a cunny
friend,
Clothing me with wealth a while
ago,
And honoring my feet with a
slippers,
Calling me colorful; rather than
fruitful.
All the jewels that beautified my
earlier days,
Now are worn by the bodies of the
past.
Living me as important as a living
dead,
Making my story a glory of the
past.
Bolts of the past have gone
rotten,
Only a chance of grace; can
lubricate.
All these will be the daily manna
of them,
Opening their laps to the
defilement of life.

Written by Abolaji Abraham
ab.abolaji@gmail.com
SHARE
Previous articleGO BACK
Next articleGREATER LOVE