Author Topic: Abstract Thought  (Read 97 times)

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Offline johnchizobaVincent

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Abstract Thought
« on: March 13, 2018, 08:54:57 PM »

You as a competitor, you are the least people can fight against.  You are beyond the thought of the world.  You want to see the sun rise and hope for the coming of the rain to wash away your tears.  You the bittersweet and sorrowful added together by situation.  You the thinker,  you the creator,  you the river of thought beyond the earth. You the looser,  you the loosed! Do you feel pains at all?  Do you feel better at all?  Do you like where the world have placed you?.  You the toddler of thought,  do you think being in love will ease off your burdens?  Do you think writing will bring sanity?  You torn yourself out into pieces yesterday,  you cried and wept like a baby and no one cares.  You struggled under the sun and the rain. You waited from dusk to dawn without a perfect song to march together the whole of your sanity.
 I know you more than you know yourself, I know the tales of your childhood.i know where you were gotten!  Bravery. Strong.  Hopeful. And confused. I don't seems to understand  your pains because I have not been hurt like that.  What the hell come over you?  How did it come to this?  How did you arrange those abstract songs to form a bleeding stories? I don't know how to tell your breath to stop feeding you because you have caused so many pains to onlookers.  I don't know why you breath yet dead. I don't know your kind.  You seemed so brave! But you are timid atimes.  You are weak atimes.  I watched you grow into a young man and smirked in tears.  I know who you are. I know who you are but you said to my ears that I don't know who you are.
If I understand your grievances, I would have understood  what life had turn you into.  I am not afraid to see you wallow in darkness,  been betrayed;  been rubbished by fate.  I have you in my palm of thought and head of dignity.  Let's see what tomorrow holds for me and you. I am not the learned type.  hawking down the brain of your being. Hold your pieces into one box.  I will drive towards this palms of hostage and tell this tale once and let my mouth burst into flames of stories of how we left home to find those things that would kill us.  I don't care of your carriage of fear and loathing dreams,  no, I don't care.  Not even how life has made you to be.  You get scared.  You are hunted.  They hurled words at you,  things got you devastated and you are not a fool. You think you are, you think you are stupid and abnormal because of what they said.  Because of what they accused you off.  Listen to me,  you are not a failure and not a streamline of frustration and confusion tabled before the Pope. Listen you are above all principalities and powers and demons lurking around.  You thought you are a mistake. Be careful how you twist life and fate.  Destiny is carved portrait innovations faking like images.  I am not the treasure hunt in the mind of saints.  Taste tomorrow with your lips softly and tell the world how salty it is.
And this journey ends here where writers wear clothes of rags and tattered thoughts revolving around meanings and kindness.  Love like you never slay in the bookmark of a king.  There are knives and swords and missiles and weapons wrapped in Nigeria. Mind my words and actions speak in the heart of those wrapped text of today.  You are the strings of music,  you are god to yourself. As an innovator, you have to move, closer to rubise and golden horn of Africa. Be strong and courageous things said are wings flying beyond shrunk believes. We will see where no rose wither and die. Shadows are thoughts bridged between fingers.

©John Chizoba Vincent
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