macaulay akinbami

Rookie - 251 Points (7th February / Lagos, Nigeria)

I Will Fight Even Till Death - Poem by macaulay akinbami

Will you try again?
With avalanche of failures,
The peak, the peak or add the zenith, futile, “all labors lost”
Yet, once more I must, ere I die, with dripping blood, though it’s the last once more I must
They are far gone, yesterday they were friends.
My honey dripped into their lips, I parted the gold and silver in brotherly love
When my fruits were many,
My waters were free, and my dome, a house for all,
When they were ill, I cried, I paid my surgeon and prayed to restore their health,
For the blood we shared, I must, to this service attend, for the friendship, the gall taste.
Swear in trot, that with no penny from me in your glory
And not a pence of gain from my wealth
Though freely I say Be gone, be gone, blood brother and friend

Yet softly, a ringing thought, to the voyage bid me come,
In angry beckoning storms, through life’s raging trials
More loneliness, more pains, more betrayals, withal
With flounce or prance advancing to more jeopardy
Risk, A constant ally death, an unavoidable end
Constant contemplations, in cache of the minds
Vacillating, like a blind man in cabaret caught
Drubbing in this unfair contest
Be gone be gone to haters of trot be gone

I toughed lands, crossing seas sharing invites to enemies as to friends
To a banquet of friendliness, the unsuspected union of quiet murderers
My dragnet seized bands of Hypocrites, a thousand times in spirited kindness
Wish my balm could heal wickedness.
Of bond brothers or blood
Oozing venoms in false smiles
Hiding bitterness with church bells
Of coven power,
Of dark counsels
Of unknown slavery and forgotten oaths of bondages

Bid me to these trial
I go alone
Fighting in wounds of blood in the dark hour of the nights
These beasts
Clothed for war against a mortal man (me) trusting the cross of “I AM”
Save me from
“Noise of a whip,
and the noise of the rattling of the wheels,
and of the pransing horses, and of the jumping chariots.
The horseman lifteth up both the bright sword and the glittering spear:
and there is a multitude of slain, and a great number of carcases;
and there is none end of their corpses; they stumble upon their corpses”


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Poem Submitted: Friday, May 6, 2011

Poem Edited: Friday, May 6, 2011


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