He Is Just A Friend Poem by Folayemi Akande

Threads on my head were still straight cut,

Birches were yet to begin their homages,

Amidst the depth of the showering spring habit.

The spiral downward of the veery was yet to take the melancholic pitch.

The Nile was yet to wear the white morning veil

When poverty, my friend, left me on the fancy pedals of time.

It's been two years since the same sun set on us

Then was yet the ugly hands of time on my fresh skin

strong as fawn was he, at his flush of youth,

When Our disseverance was spelled by the wielding hands of time and sweat.

I have yet to sneeze away our last escapade

The one we had in the belly of chambers pouch;

His profound lures of penury, not appraisal of virtue.

My friend is a curse to good, an ally of bad

He takes virtue and beckons it away, and makes you in a vice and forces to it stay

And then camps in you an totalitarian reign

Where no Lord dreams to at no life time visit.

He is just a helpless friend in need of company.

He is just a friend who plays the mother role in lives of many

He is just a bad company that tells us their is something to fight for.

He is just a friend...