The Vanity Chase Poem by Akujuobi Chijioke

There goes the object of their muse
Moving with a sepulchral flair,
Teasing and assuming allure
As her patrons seek pursuit.

On painted lines their fingers spread From the dead of dawn
To the crepuscule light,
Their legs fly on mounted hopes.

'Today shall be the day; '
They grind their hearts
And churn their spirits
To have a shot at filthy glory.

Then the sun refused to shine
And the moon hid in the darkness;
The screams were loud and bold
As the sea swam to the sunset.

The runners broke the race
Sliding from the blood rains
Their hearts eaten by their own flesh As the vanity chase comes to an end...