Skip to main content

Yes You Can! End Of Story


Life is not a holiday at the beach where children build sand castles and play with pebbles.

It is a fight for survival and a battle against the ever scheming, always furious arch enemy of God and man.

Everyone is involved in the warfare. Unfortunately not everybody wins.

Some ignore the battle with endless hopeless hopes it will automatically go away and are consequently wiped out by the unsparing enemy.

Others are ignorant of the devices of the devil and are consequently destroyed.

A few are dogged and fight to finish.

Which are you?

If you desire dominion here on earth, you most fight the good fight of faith.

If you must enjoy life here on earth, you must get outta your comfort zone and go dare your fears.

Believe in yourself. Yes you can! End of story.

Doubt your fears. Fear limits you. It cripples you. It kills! Snap off it!

Keep your heads up. You're not inferior to any superior. Alright? Keep your head upright, walk like you got this under control, and go make the win.

Smile always. It's therapeutic. Smiles makes the burden less burdensome. It draws beautiful curves on your wrinkled soul and beams rays of hope on hopelessness. So smile like you don't care.

Don't give up. Only cowards tuck tails between legs and do the run. You're bigger than that task. Man up! Girl up! Dare! Defy! Don't ever give up! It's not an option.

Do not forget to remember:
No one said life's all rosy. If you fall, cry, weep, then get up, dust your garment, hit the road and go make the best out of 2019.

Congratulations! You'll make it!

#Pengician #SSA

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...

RIP: Return If Possible (Ode to my High School crush)

She would wink at me from the corner of her eyes. She would dare to slap the tallest in my class if he dares bully me for penning his name in my list of noise makers. She would share her pen  when mine is spent. She would help me take notes when sick I lay in bed. She played my advocate  even when I least deserve it. Her height, though intimidating earned more of my admiration. Her fingers Her palms though long and bold compared to my petite own were my favourite to hold. She was loud and noisy not never made the list. She would speak Igbo and wink 'you dare not write my name' Her drawings, I did when others I snub. JSS 3 to SSS 1 I crushed on this pretty girl But I was too shy to ink that poem. I left without letting you know how much I care. Had no time to appreciate your kind gestures undeserved defense... You were my crush. Augusta, When I found first Facebook you were the first I searched to add... In vain I searched  You were not found. I stalked the walls of our cl...

Featured Poem: What Happens When A Poet Falls In Love - by Martin Deep

Dusk brings the charms to my lips It would seem. The moon is here and My tongue is ripe with whispers. I can whisper now For my eyes are weary From telling poetry. How you were enchanted with the rhyme my sighs poured when I touched your fountain head! The candles have gone all out The muse has drunk up the oil of the lamp to the last droplet. The innocent wigs dies noiselessly. Is this what happens when a poet falls in love? That my trashcan becomes the graveyard for my pen That lay like thankless knights That have bled to please their mistress for quests unsent. Is this what happens when a poet falls in love? That the innocence of papers are stolen? How so many have cried in the merciless flames sentenced thus 'bearers of unworthy words' So pure our love is my love. So true. A cherub perhaps is ravished and he cries to God to have him be our ring bearer . What other fulfillment  is greater than our spirits soaring in each other's eyes? Is this what happens when a poet fal...