Stoic Life Poem by Abena Frimpong

The frequency flows seamlessly,
Given all a quest of choice and passion.
Not that the Grim Reaper shows up sooner
Battle of peace, drama or quiet,
Concepts of critical contemplations.
A delusional fellow came by,
Ranting and chanting of misfortunes,
While tides grew fierce.
Regrets — a fade of yesterday
Drums of soothing rhythm,
Filled the air like bread soaked.
No telepathy rather clear kinesis
Sighs of sophisticated aura
Worry or content, dreamy or dry-eyed

What about the weasel!
Rummaging through the community
Not a single quota contributed
Yet the Golden rule is —
Expected to be delivered impartially