The Year Is Come Poem by Dr Anthony Onoja

The day we agrees that memories lives
Throwback time in realities of myths
The year is come to our brim
The circle begins, the trilogy of life
Then the fresh pages of time are open
Yet the circles of memories remains with us
Yonder as a deer, it recycle like the trash bin of life
This not about the man, is about the mind
Tell him he is a man of the mind living from the heart
Blown by the open shows of realities
Below the falcons of his heart
We may not hide from the blazing sun
We may run but cannot hide from the blankets of memories
The year is come, so full of herself like the pregnant damsel
Bringing along joy, happiness, breakthroughs and laughter
But weeping echoes, so does sorrow replies from the deep
They lurk behind the dark curtains of time
Allowing the excited light to have his day
The angry darkness descended from the archive of hell
With grand felicitations send to us by Mr. Lucifer himself
The came and bridge the course of time
When we slept the staircase of time, they knock…
With bags of rewards from the rewarder and the punisher
The year is come, so perfect she walks the course of the calendar
She recreated her firms and beauty in the hearts and lips of men
They all long to have her for a bride and harness her offspring
They waited for her in the Churches, houses, clubs and outer planets
They all wanted to be the first flirt that will have intercourse with her
Throw the message to eternity, tell her how brief the mortal journey is on Earth
Tell her she is so vast but she gave us a tip of her beloved time so fractionalized
Man left the cause of God and hurt man
Manifested in his own very cruel image of Cain and Bin Ladin
When will all these sorrows seize to overtake us?
When will the true redemption come and the serpent go away?
While we live let us all count the steps of our shadows
With the clouds of time and the compass of hope
Let us sit in an open interval and recount 'Living is a gift bought with no Shillings'
Death is a price bought with many bobs of sins
Is there no way to know the end from the beginning?
Isle of the blind, we all journey like the lost seekers looking for the gold unknown
Is there no escape from eternity and the loss of time?
Is there no jungle justice to this tyrant who called himself Mr. Death?
Is life as blank as the womb of grave?
Surely there must be an open escape where the souls all wandered free
Seasoned with pure hope and endless happiness for all mankind
Separated from the beast of memories, hates, life and death…
Indeed the year have just arrived our door steps…