Skip to main content

Lights Out - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu


LIGHTS OUT

Prologue:
The Cinema was set
new movie, we're both excited
to be casts and scriptwriters
We cuddled and relished this movie

Scene One:
Strangers crossed paths
but couldn't just pass.
She winked and waved
and stole your breath.
You stopped to stare
and gasp for air.
Butterflies,
Spark of lights.

Scene Two:
On a parched wasteland
you laid the foundation.
With broken bricks
you built erotic walls.
'My this'- then kisses
'My that'- then cloud nine. 
'My everything'- you both lied.

Scene Three:
Stranger on your bed
You wonder how you met.
You were too busy being hers
to fall for someone new
Maybe you never knew
twil hurt this much to be hers.

Scene Four:
Today your forest is dark
The trees are sad
and all the butterflies
have broken wings.

Epilogue:
Two by two, they all filed in
all shades of 'forever yours'.
But when the movie came to an end
they crawl on all fours unpaired;
she takes the right
he owns the wrong.
No sweet songs from the Nightingale
Not all love tales happy-ever-after ends.

Lights out!


#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician
#SSA

Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. 
Thank you. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.  "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies"  "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat"  After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"  "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

Letter To My Son

Dear Son Try to forget that nothing waits in the dark, raise your shoulder high wave off the frea and step into that lane. Won't you rather be gone in there than stay out here playing the coward? Get up now, son everyone falls. #Pengician #SSA http://bit.ly/2haEhoj

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...