Unintentional Existence: He Is Late Poem by Vincent Onyeche

When the moment comes in
Waypoint, rigor-mortis sets in.
War-child tell me, in life's inn
What did you do therein or within?

Nah! Just wish I were young forever;
Negligible senescence stinks,
Never cry over a spilled milk
Never do! It was meant to be.

Let my candles burnout
Let not my memories fade away
Lager-out mood they would say
'La-di-da! never die like I did'.

Obviously, 'tis a long journey to make
O Lord kindly open the golden gate
I'm right on-time spy through my faith
It's my fate not a piece of cake.

Lurcher save the tinsels don't Wolf-cry,
Let's be frank even as you kiss and tell
Indeed to death, debtors we are
It's imperative and a price we must pay

Farewell, life isn't an imperfect-competition
Infants will still come in.. but,
For real; when he is late, he wouldn't know
If he is dead or even existed.