Still I Write Poem by Michael Adeosun

I remember the days of old
when I would fall under the anointing of the Muse
Scripting scriptures in verses
to kindred spirits of the poetic fraternity.
Verses only discernable by initiates of literary minds.
Poetic constructs of subjective interpretations.
In a trance did I deliver the messages.
The trance, not one expressed by the display of a prance and pentecostal utterances.
Rather, it is vented through the tongue of a pen
Inked over snow white papers.
That was before I sold my soul to corporations
In return for a guaranteed juicy and loafy daily bread.
Then did I ink a contract for a nine to five.
And it turned out twenty four hours was hardly sufficient for an eight hour contract.
Such was the life of a wage earner in a corporate plantation adorned in suits crafted by a designer tailor.
And it happened that I had backslided from the
path of poetic salvation enticed by crispy notes.
But the poetic Muse remains faithful and undeparted.

Still I write.

But if all these come as undecipherable,
It is because it is only intended for those of the
poetic communion.