12: 33 Am Poem by John Chizoba Vincent

Its mid night-
Aloneliness struck my heart.
Fear wrapped her emotions round me,
Cold held me bravely around the geographical
Part of my heart with claws of infidelity.
My soul flashed and sparkled in confusion.
I missed the comfort embrace of his love.


I watched the ceiling counting my tears,
A cupful of sorrow emerged majestically,
A tearful of mourning torn my being painfully.
The midnight owls howled and haunted me,
I rolled on the bed, fearfully, lustifully battered;
I missed his face after the moon has gone to bed.


I moaned in the presence of no body,
I groaned gracefully before an empty bed.
Running after the fragrance that came to me,
I remembered his muse clapping behind him,
I remembered his dimples and the open teeth
That welcomes a blossoming maiden to dine;
I remembered him at the stroke of madness.


Twelve thirty three is the time-
And my bed was without his sweat painted.
I could not hear his snoring sound of love calling,
I could not feel his hands caressing me,
But I saw his bare chest staring at me;
The hairs stood still searching my blank face.
I missed the touch of his lips against mine.


Have you seen my lover at the gate with the men?
Talk to me my humble errand star of hope,
Have you seen him at the gate of the city with men?
If you have come cross him at the city gate,
Go tell him his lover stands at the balcony waiting;
Waiting for his return to my bosom to love again.



(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016