panting to choked breath and broken stare
This is my own dreaded sore
The unkind teeth leading the aged saw
The trance eroded blatantly
The true hopes that clove to the arms of reality
The tug twirling the decisive steps of the waited morrow
The palms that clouded around earnest eyes of action
Shallow promises effervescing to half anticipated light
Ride on the hardest of backs,
Soil your white-washed hands on the plains that feared your very eyes
Let the air flicker no more on this worn nostrils
Save the perils
Turn the leaf and let its eyes not roam the muddy grounds
From afar the mean haze
Neither today nor the mean morrow wraps fortune
Anger lingers between the eye-gazed lines that is to be read
It charms the sights with vigorous red
Mean luck
Written by: Goodnews Mememugh Karibo
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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