All these jackals
That follow at my back
And this pursuing
Tsunami
With the scavenging
Justifications
That sow thoughts
Of imperfections
Sweeping gradually
Those sweet memories
Of victories
And triumphs
Those days
Of pleasant moments –
Past –
But rewarding
Shall,
As I hope,
All crumble
And disappear
As I find myself –
A high flyer –
On the wings
Of an angel
Soaring
Endlessly
In the angel’s bossom:
Comforting and relieving
Worthy to erase
The tears
Of these days
Of wrought and wreckage
And these lies
Borne from lack
Shall all too, be polished gold
In the journey’s pathway
As I find
This glorious angel
To carry me
Into pleasantness
© Kanu Ekpezu