Wild Thoughts | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 235: WILD THOUGHTS
you sit by the river of flooding ideas
and watch your your thoughts run wild

you lend your limbs to the wind
and with the wings of many eagles
you take your flight into distant 'what-if-lands'

silence shut out the voices that beckon
to distract your peak focus
from off the eye of the bull

shoot you must!
so on you day dream realities

you exhale and shun the desires that flaw
tomorrow's bliss with doubt traps

suddenly you yield
you flop
you are carried by the wind downwards
your mouth spread to protests
but words are lost

you say nothing,
you give up
you fall

yet, in the valley of this emptiness
bereft of help above and hope below
you roam like hungry rodents in a churchyard

you wander aimless into more traps
you circle same mountain over amd over
and wonder why there seem to be no end rhyme to this verse

but you don't give in to giving up
you raise your head above your neck
and.imagine yourself in a flood of thoughts

you picture memories to be made
and dreams once lost to the downfall
come flooding back like flashbacks

and all of them, yours

so you fly home with the wings of many eagles

you return and stand by the same shore
from whence you took off

instead of mockery and jeers
an ovation of bowed heads and cheers
ring the welcome song
to your wild thoughts

thing is, you must dream
and envision that which you desire.

don't let the now and trivial
take away your heart from just courses

be alert
stay focus
don't lose your wings to chicken crumbs
there's a victual for you on the mountain top

dream wild
don't die

#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician
#SSA

Enjoyed reading? Commenting is now easy.
I introduced Facebook Comment feature. Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

Comments

shy, a poem

bashful, timid, quiet. shy If anyone you know has used these terms to describe you, you're probably a bit shy. Everyone feels that way once in a while. Shyness and social anxiety are common, no matter how old you are. There is one myth about social anxiety and social anxiety disorder that I would like to dispel. The myth says that social anxiety is just exaggerated shyness. This myth encourages the idea that anxious people are merely weak-willed pushovers. It is partially because of this myth, I think, that well-intentioned people offer the relevant but insensitive and patronizing advice like, “Don’t worry about it!” , “Just do it” and “Face your fears.” Thinking on all these, I wrote this poem: shy when a shy person speaks, it's like music from guitar strings. when a shy person smiles, it’s like the sun coming out when a shy person steps out it's like the uncommon visit of gods when a shy person reclines it feels like moon eloped from night when a shy person is 'i

Dustbin And Drafts - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 142: DUSTBIN AND DRAFTS He was the night sky, She was a star, Always together, Never one. He wrote what he felt for her of how her twinkles light up his dark. But they never get to her. One more note was added in his drafts. Fragrant pens and beautiful poems Pink papers and artistic handwriting. She wrote about the beauty in his black of how they make her twinkles shine. but they never got to him. Only the dustbin knows how much she loves him - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

For Leah Shabiru - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 136: FOR LEAH SHABIRU I can't find the words right To describe Leah's plight. I hope this little piece of mine Awakens our voiceless unconcern. Does she feel giddy? Does she still cry? Does she look out the window and heave a sigh? How long shall this gravity Hold her down to these rascals? I know she kicks but in vain I know she whispers prayers to her God Or maybe she now doubts his existence. Does she wish her breathe be gone? But she's just a teenager Who dreamt of leaving her deadbeat town One day she went to chase dreams The next she was never found Sunrise and sunset have come and gone and Leah is still in the devil's lair. You and I, we eat, we sleep She's not our own, we care not a bit Until same fate cross our path Trample our wives And rip our hearts Only then shall we realize in Leah died our very soul. - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends

Jaachi Writes

Search This Blog