The Haunting History Poem by Enikanoselu Seyi

Cracked like a wailing morn,
Toned up like a moderate feather,
"Shall we live by history? "
The sonorous mime hits me.
"Ay, master,I think so, " murmured I.

"Oh foolish ambassador,
What burns your heart like sulfur
With passionate regret and sparrow?
What compresses your face like monkey's
With rashes that hatch your iris? "

Again I stood stunned,
Like litotes with paradoxical contents,
I mourned not for the conviction I had,
But for the confusion I put myself.
"Sir, I think my past works me most,
It hunts my present as calendar, "
My broken lips sailed in shame.

Thus, I know history is a story,
But sails the assailing mission,
To the slough that makes depression,
Till retinue reaches matinée.