The Morning confronted me

The morning confronted me
With silent words and
bloody feet

It points to my face
Still wet in dreams, my guilt
Has painted blue the stairways

The red had found the ceilings
And black the walls, all I found thee

My cat was left out in the scenery
I suspect, the poor one
Was saintlier than me

I was accursed by the sins
Of far land, fresh water
and neighboring hills

I fear the world, would
March in torch and arrows
Banging my door; asking why
I stole their love in

Saying loud, how misty the
Mercy of God has depart still

I sense this all, in sorrows
And hotness from the abyss’s within

In my most deepest and
proudest of mind

I ask, for my soul to find
pardon me


Image courtesy:


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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