In Our World Poem by Gabriel Ifeanyi Onyewu

Thankful for each breathing dawn,
whilst not all slumber would resurrect
yet ano' bereaved morn.
Would that it be said same wall clock?
Twice clockwise, thrice anti-clockwise;
the figures quite well positioned round they seem,
or what is really wrong Mr brown rustle,
with the green battery behind the clock hanging
on the cracked wall?



Cold-piercing whistles indiscretion command's,
gusty rush trails ungentle tailwind;
also winnow vertical souls nearby belligerents,
now horizontal bystanders level with steppe
once they trampled under feet
by swift rabble of broken flights
randomly sticking their landing askew
on throng-tranquil plain.




Slowly pervades fumes circle's shaded arc.
Not a far cry entirely,
just a stone's throw away from this spherical
infection.

The firmament deepens with ascent.