Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
My life, ever since then has been really dry.
Situation, where traits of boredom do lie,
To escape from dreadful anguish, as I try,
It is so bad, that I ‘am about to fry.
The bad time has refused to take off and fly.
It’s like a desert, where no one hears your cry.
Why is the dreadful moment happening? Why?
As I ‘am beginning to stare up so high,
Staring up with despair into the vast sky,
Wondering when all this will ever pass by.
Praying earnestly for this despair to die,
Hoping for this to go away, as I sigh.
The unsettling curse that makes my life wry,
Thought strikes, into helpful adventure, I vie.
Happiness and joy now I find I apply.
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Comments about this poem (Desert by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 July 1870 – 16 July 1953)
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