Dying Son Poem by Ifeoluwa Philips

At the blade edge
Blood painted it red
Life lost and find
Leaving aside the dead fine

The gate of hell is wide
And only therein light run and hide
Peace aisle is narrow
And pieces to sights sorrow

Slipping through the sole
And drafting a lost soul
In Concord of a gone age
Who then has a key to lost cage

Piano telegraphing widely
To the ear of a deaf loudly
Drum is been beating hard
Calling to attention the detained Shepherd