Adeayo poetry

I'm patiently waiting. Waiting for this unpleasant game to end. This seeming never ending game, Of which I'm an unwilling gamer. I've failed in dating. Watch my heart break to the end. This falling out of fame, Its like this game is a tamer. I've fought the viral uprising, Stayed home till depression nearly send My lonely soul out of a name. I nearly bought the farm like a simple farmer. I've stood watching, As those i voted snuffed out my friends, Like in the hunger games, The shock lands like an hammer. The horror rushing, Like  zombie apocalyptic fiends. I hate this game, I lament its a cunning scammer. I'm hallucinating; I think we are near the beginning of the end But why are we in a cage While around us, the animals gather? I'm patiently waiting, For when this game will end. I shall shout out its name, With a middle finger "jumanji!" To make it scatter. ©aypoetry

Heaven and Hell is a symbol to me; a balance of good and evil. One exist for the other, And none is without the other. Most people say they are not evil; look themselves in a mirror and lie straightfaced. I don't have a mirror, but if i do. I will be truthful and say I'm a bit of both; Leaning closer to the darkness every single day. We all are; light and darkness combined, Both related. And influence of their conflict, Reflects even in the good we make. For good to one, is evil to another. And evil to one, is good to another. Too much good itself can be a form of evil, And he, all alone is not whole. His companion must follow. Hence, the concept of good and evil, Light and dark, Heaven and Hell. All contend, but none prevail. All in a flux of balance, Which keeps nature safe. We are children of nature, And should come to terms with it. Embrace the good as well as evil, And keep both in balance. That's the way to it, And I know of no profitable way either. ©aypoetry

Religious moral is a beautiful garden of diverse rules, As diverse as man, and as murky too; So much, a seeming immoral man, Has morals in and of his own dark outlook on things. He calls it his "bottom line". If everyone is to have the same set of morals, There won't be free will, Which like God's gifts is double edged, And will come back to bite if you misuse it. Thus, God might have wanted There to be diverse morals instead of one, And countless school of thoughts instead of one. After all, isn't it said that all religion comes from God? Food for thought for those Who in their megalomaniacal mind, Think their moral standing the superior one. A garden is only beautiful if it has diverse flowers. I think in God's eyes, that's how religious morals should be. A myriad rules doctored by man's freewill, A freewill which according to all moral standards  Makes you choose between good and evil, What if you chose none? Or chose a mix of both? I wonder what ga...

A little stain on white, The alarm on conscience sounds. At first, loud and startling. Later, as the little stains come, Over the years, silent and unfeeling. A little stain, a little blotch, Gently covering the white, once, a plain goodly thing. Now browning near the edges, and no warning whatsoever, till in nostalgia at my once innocence, I remorsefully feel, at twenty and four  how black-hearted I am. And how it all started with the little stain, I tried to dab with dirt water called lies. Till I made a profession of it,, In a half-truthful lie; one being psychic. It holds sway on you, Until it pops like the weightless bubble it is, Then spreads thickly on my white. On rare occasions like this day, I think what black-hearted felon I am. ©aypoetry

Standing quietly in this crowded street, On this lonely moonlit night. Staring up like a homeless, howling dog. Staring at that shiny silver orb. Like an obsessed astronomer, I ask the gentle orb. "Are you lonely just like me? Cursed to shine far above the stars about you, So much so you have no place to call your own And move across the skies finding home?" It isn't that lonely this night again, With the moon shining gently down. I can feel a mutual connection Between the giant mirror, me and my loneliness. At least I have something to talk to. That truly understands loneliness at the peak. ©aypoetry

It was on flat tires beside the road, Its race was run; A symbol of Nigerian road. Its hull is gone_ Under rain, with others to goad. Fading under the sun. Its beauty, that once was renowned, Accident has torn. Why wasn't it taken away? Laxity in everything. Leaving it there one more day, A symbol you wish to unsee. The ghost car you see today, Ragged and incomplete. Might be your own one day, Then the vicious cycle repeats. ©aypoetry2020