Be My Poem Poem by Solomon Sunday

My hands are gifted
My pen is pregnant
The scroll is empty
The judge is waiting
The jury watch in silence

Torrent of words in rhythmic wave
Mysterious writing in chain of power
Wandering outta pathless wasteland
Stagger no more like a drunkard
Your foxes are captured with words of Faith

My heart is occupied
My mind is roaming in mysteries
Strip me of this yoke
And slant yourself upon me

Let my pen write those words
Mouth unable to proclaim
My mind conceive thought only fit for dreams
My feelings and emotions desire passion beyond the vocality of words

Be my Poem and emancipate action into my Pen