THE STERILITY DAYS (An Original Poetry)

IMAGE SOURCE; darkmoon1968/ images

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Infecund is all we've become
the mind that weave
knits and spins locution
interlacing vapid alphabets
with vacuous adjectives
to accouch pretty verses
searching and seeking
into the once fountain of artistry
but the hands that dotted
is hibernating in sterility days

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We're plagued with desolation
hearts in ruins
the mind, olden with spiderwebs
what shall we do?
when we are bashed in aridity?
unable to sperm on books
or carve on the sky's oocytes?
the pottery is as witless as mockery
dim-witted as ink-less pen
With beautiful curves and shiny points

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The sterility days
are days we writhe in
banal and bland
and the spear and bow
remains blatantly futile
a darkness drowsy within
curvaceous spears shudders home
without a kill
leaving the dexterous archer
reeling in cowardice embittered by pain

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What happens to men?
when the blade
is too steep to lance?
or the hands too rigid to dance?
prance in swaggering gait
on a virigin papyrus
too feeble to hybridize
emotions and feelings into
colours, letters and paint?

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Written & Edited

By @Josediccus

10/10/2018

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"Steemian Mantra"

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Visit my blog for more amazing poems & content

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JOSEPH C.IKECHUKWU

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