The Six Feet Mansion
Grey's Book Club Weekly Journal
A lonely trip down a memory lane that has drifted to oblivion;
A journey back to when I was created;
A journey to the newly found self,
Or the one that was left on the shelf.
My heart skips a beat when I think about it,
And fear grips me from the pits of my soul,
My feet trembles, and my hands dances to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
What would I take to meet the one who created this creativity out of me?
I know I am a prototype; a masterpiece
But I know to fear my creator,
I know to fear he who made me a living example?
What happens when a masterpiece stops living?
Few of my dear ones accompany me to the gates of my demise
A masterpiece soon to be buried
An image of perfect mastery, running out of oxygen, and clawing onto life
My six feet mansion, yet a confinement to me and nothing but what made me.
In this mansion they say is my eternal
If I bring something worthwhile,
The walls widen for me.
If I bring nothing but the thoughts of the world.
I would dwell forever in the hellish minds of men.
Choking air out of my nostrils until my bones intertwined.
I am not a ghost to haunt the living
But I might forever toss and turn in my grave
My heartbeat sending waves of warnings to the skies
Screaming the silent screams of terror and disdain
Save me from myself; save you from the throes of men.
Do not fall like the angel that would never rise again.
Although loved by men, but that's really the end.
LAWAL HUSWAT OLUWAKEMI
©Spring ✒
Extensively edited by GreyGray.
A lonely trip down a memory lane that has drifted to oblivion;
A journey back to when I was created;
A journey to the newly found self,Or the one that was left on the shelf.
My heart skips a beat when I think about it,
And fear grips me from the pits of my soul,
My feet trembles, and my hands dances to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
What would I take to meet the one who created this creativity out of me?
I know I am a prototype; a masterpiece
But I know to fear my creator,
I know to fear he who made me a living example?
What happens when a masterpiece stops living?
Few of my dear ones accompany me to the gates of my demise
A masterpiece soon to be buried
An image of perfect mastery, running out of oxygen, and clawing onto life
My six feet mansion, yet a confinement to me and nothing but what made me.
In this mansion they say is my eternal
If I bring something worthwhile,
The walls widen for me.
If I bring nothing but the thoughts of the world.
I would dwell forever in the hellish minds of men.Choking air out of my nostrils until my bones intertwined.
I am not a ghost to haunt the living
But I might forever toss and turn in my grave
My heartbeat sending waves of warnings to the skies
Screaming the silent screams of terror and disdain
Save me from myself; save you from the throes of men.
Do not fall like the angel that would never rise again.
Although loved by men, but that's really the end.
LAWAL HUSWAT OLUWAKEMI
©Spring ✒
Extensively edited by GreyGray.
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