The Weaker Vessel Poem by Adeoye Adetoba

Her birth was not heralded with merriments.
Her crime was the form she appeared;
An unanswered prayer
Seen as a mere consolation.
She isn't the torch bearer, they mused.
She's like a flower by the roadside,
To be excised by the hands of strangers
And into foreign and far climes.
A house filled with them is not strength;
But trade on the market stalls.

Set into the worlds of testosterones,
Like a pollen at the mercy of the wind,
Poorly equipped for the travails on her path
But favoured at the fairness of her skin.
Looked upon with scorn in privy matters of the mind,
Pleasurely, when lust is set at the loins,
She's set as a prize, to be won
And kept in the locker.

Yet, the heart of men lies a tool in her hands.
Her fury is like a scourge on a city.
Her blessings like the shinning sun
On vegetations long starved of warmths.
Pandora box is at her left hand,
Cornucopia at her right;
She's a double-edged sword handled with care.

Subtler than the serpent, gentler than the dove.
Stealthier than the panther, deeper than the ocean.
I crave your presence and your lovely nature.
My heart shall be the altar of your adoration,
My mind to the veneration of your essence.
For you are a rose that will always
Flourish in my poetry and prose.