Of Little dust


Of little dust
My hands shall rest eternal

The sweet lover of the voice
Shall be empty without a sword

Taken, grasped, would the
Strength be, the walk off in
The strangest of coast
The holiest of soul

O repair the walls, traitor of
Justice and of light
The day of refine would soon be come
The fire of gold would be sober burnt
Would that the rose be living in the
Sorrowed with love


Image courtesy: onnagata-stock.deviantart.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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