Called Away Poem by Adeosun Olamide

Tis no insanity the rains that beat me down
Or the bell that hammers in my head,
Nor illusions, the dust that rises and twirls me,
Unsettling my brain and all within my shell,
It is the wind that blows apart then drifts off,
Off into the cold to pierce and freeze us,
But there is the sun to save,
And it blinds and devours, and though,
I'll be in the clouds cradle that lust its light,
That drowns the stars and its likes,
And enshroud there,
I'll rise to it, to be turned a shadow,
And a shadow, I'll sail upon the storm
The storm that gulps, I'll sail,
To stay the bell that hammers here,
For, in its keen lightning and fire,
Rises a soloist, to see me there,
To hold my hand and slowly stroke,
At the rhythm of my breath,
Devouring it,
But a shadow, an enchanting reach cannot,
For there will be no hide to break or crack
Nor there, to thicken against the cold that should freeze it,
For I am then, a shadow, rising to the mountaintop,
Heeding the sounder silence,
Walking on the edges, wanting to grow by death

Tis not visions, I am buried,
Tis not defect the causes my visions'
No, not illness the architect the world I be in,
I am sir, a seer, a sane, living here, discerning you,
I see your bones, the draught within you
I hear the ghosts' cold, torn, that swirls the gentleman,
Atoning within you, listening to us,
Ah, they eat your soul, and dangles the remains
Beautiful bones, beautiful bones of dusts,
Settled in a thirsty ocean,
My tongue knows the taste of their silence,
The paces at which they walked,
And my eyes, the forming's of their dark,
There are no stirrings within your mind unknown,
They are no strangers, veiled in emptiness within your walls
The graves are empty wrapped in the walls,
Hush; hush sir, tis the wind inhaled,
There, over the tides, the gentle ones roam,
Tis them pushing the pane, the snort betrayed,
Oh, taken, the wound widens

I hear sir, in your consent, a mockery, and impatience
But take a look in my mind, beyond the reckoning darkness,
And see nothing, nothing hidden there, nothing folly,
Or listen to the endless flow, beyond the reckoning ebbs,
And see they are not mine, the blood that surges,
But you know sir, and yet my legs fetters keep,
You, the instruments of their existence,
Endeavored to bind me here,
In their light to piteous gaze and presence,
Their broken reflection, to the rain, bells and dusts,
Their yearnings, birds, stars drowned in the clouds
And in a pill, you deliver me madness
Then melt into the mirror, returning to silence
Leaving here, to be minded by all