Onyi Ogwumike

Had these walls souls,
Would they sing of our gardens.
As my fences spread,
Parting in tense lust.
...

Past the blood that slowly freezes in my veins.
Past the mindless voices that explode into the frosty air in great swirls of vaporous life.
Peeks at me, the waking Sun.
Extends their hands, does the angel’s smiles.
...

I can’t even begin to fathom
What kind of ignorant ghost must have slipped into my skull?
To let me believe I stood a chance.
I accept defeat and therefore am victorious.
...

A rip in the black vinyl, a rip in a union of beats unmarred
Spilling over the top into a world of discarded graces.
Many a good mind was burdened by a never ending fraction that equally fractioned their consciousness…
*CRACK*
...

My crimson red wrath sloshes against
The crust of my words.
Like lava beating against its earthy bindings.
Deep with acidity, towering might
...

An everything abounding without a halt.
Skipping, running, prancing through time.
Toes skidding on the lines of a pulsing mind.
Just a push, just a shove
...

Lift me up on the highest mountain’s frosty peak.
That with the frigid, thin air my lungs may falter.
Finally forcing me to slow….
DOWN
...

...

Nothing. I don’t know nothing.
Sigh, teachers let out the most meaningful breaths.
Like an eternity of messages could be passed through one huff of warm steam.
Sigh again; she catches my roaming thoughts in her fist.
...

Feet planted on this floor
Staring up in awe as my own heart
Materialized in the glass tube.
Swirling pearls of light and power,
...

I wonder if my pencil knows my age,
If my paper would reject my words,
Protesting my “youth”, labeling me “amateur”.
If when I look into Life’s honey brown irises,
...

Be calm, my dear Inferno.
Let not your spirit be roused by the superficial slashes of Life's whip.
Only tearing into my human bindings,
never even scratching the iron wings fastened tight on my soul.
...

My forehead pounds
With the same strong strike of some soul’s
Hand upon the head of a drum.
Frustration
...

...

...

...

Love died at his lips.
Jumping off of his tongue into the razor sharp blades of a sea of cruel reality. The merciless waves of sorrow slashing against his face, as painful life slowly filled the lungs of my beloved. Drowning in his own tears.

Love died at his hands.
...

My forehead pounds
With the same strong strike of some soul’s
Hand upon the head of a drum.
Frustration
...

I say,
By the breathe that unwinds in my lungs,
That of all mortal men
With phases that bloom and wither as the blossoms on a tree,
...

Should I rest on Night’s iris?
Being enveloped by her soul,
As those great wings of eyelids fold me into her dark shadow.
Dear Mistress,
...