I would tell you, my love

I’ve failed, I’ve tried

I’d be the last man
on earth
When the owl
stay his eyes

I would listen to the
dark skies
as it flap its hands
For close, from on high

The little bird pick up
its flight

I would tell you
of the big ant
and the scream of
‘good night’

The tales of the lamp stand
and the blink of their eyes

The miracle of the peeping eyes
of the morning daylight

The hunt of the farm rat
for the salivary small mouths

The emptiness of the
side walk and the leaves on
the ice

I’d tell you all of this,
in volumes of history note
The complementarity of the
evening life

I would repeat the words of
not the best man
that would ever be alive

not the best man
that would ever
walk a lone park

But of course, the worst man
That would come home
every blessed night


Image courtesy: gettyimage.com

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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