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...
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