Oh, The Sermons!
Season aren’t feasible
By the duress of convention
And no conclusion is without bias.
Conclusions could be geographical!
The strong are the weak
The weak are the weak
They have lost nothing
And are still no champions.
The weak are no heroes
The weak could never dare for will
The strong are comforted by memories
The act of memory transcending
The submerged to trance.
But that precarious art would
Ever dilapidate earth.
True will original mentor
The strong can resume from their pause.
It only takes the fallen to
Uphold a belief. You alone can
Describe what is in it.
Oh, don’t you see? Don’t you see?
Let the laughter of babies inspire you
They laugh without restriction.
Adults laugh half way
Adults are always hampered by sorrow
They only go for laughter evanescent
There is still a vacuum
And nothing fits this vacuum
But the vacuum wasn’t there in childhood
Babies have will
But adults never know when
Such absconds
Oh, where are the sermons of life?
We know in life,
some seasons are more dominant.
poem by Nichola Okoro
Added by Poetry Lover
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