No guts killed the fly
That met silence
With closed eyes
Stones with no fight
Heart with no grasp
He would mutter
long music of echoes
for hours
Suck on the tongue
In enemy’s tower
Telling tales to blind men
In miraculous power
of sweet victory and unknown lands
But there, no guts
No guts at all
MO.
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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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