I gave up my grains!

The early morning
Came with the young boy’s smile
It bite my face with numeral taste

The eyes soaked in the wheel
Of the pocket’s grey
Tossing the pages for desirable coins

The silt on the feet
Calls the naked memory
Playing drums of filtered praise

The voice calls the prickling leaves
Buried in the sands of midnight shade
With nothing
But good smile on the grin

I pat the horse’s back
With the slap of my grain
As I watch it hurry away
Into the thin face of the morning’s pay
I hope it find a place to bury its day

MO.

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Photo: http://www.fotosearch.com

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About Michael Ogundele

A writer, ardent reader and lover of nature. fell in love with writing five years back and I've been engraved in her arms ever since. I share my little way of writing poetry and reflections based on Catholic faith and Spirituality on this space. I hope you enjoy reading as we ride the same chariot to the leafy greens. Do follow me and together, let us jump into the ocean of my ink.
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