john chizoba vincent
A World Without Vincent - Poem by john chizoba vincent
A WORLD WITHOUT VINCENT
Vincent is the beauty of the day
With a sparkling body that shine
And make the earth smile beautifully.
He stands in the midst of the earth
In greatings to all it habitats in perfection
Vincent is the light of the world
Whose brightness surpass the day.
He stands above the sun with his
Glamouring teeth to revolved the world
round the sun which cause day and night
He is the stars and the moon
That clear the darkness and
Separate the night and day as an enemy
Vincent is the conquerer, the hope and the
Miracle whose words rekindled the death
Vincent is the air that never crack in noon
Technology that rule the world to naturalism
Creator of immortal man that Exist to nurish
The world with their undiluted breast milk
Under the unfriendly atmospheric weather.
Vincent is the fire and the treasure
Which lies in the undying belly of the phonix.
Vincent is human with an immortal heart
Sent to love, hate, protect and secure
The inbalance nature yet to balance.
Vincent is a movie, the art, the music
The rhythm of lonely women's heart.
Vincent is a poet Whose pen bleed
To create a change to the world
Whose pen' blood hurt so many.
Vincent is love, the night of the night
Darking the world to make human rest
In him lies hope for the voiceless
He stitches the boundary between the have
And the have not in the lonely society.
Vincent is the uncorruptable government
Singing unpreached righteousness to man
While men sleep, he covers their hearts in
The closet of his fortuned wide palms of love.
He sees apple of hope in Every creature.
Vincent is the sweet death in men's shoe
Devouring them happily every morning
Then covert the dead into foetus in wombs
Dust to foetus, man imperishable and immortal
A world without vincent exist in a dream.
Comments about A World Without Vincent by john chizoba vincent
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye