In the mind of man
is the divinity's dwelling place.
The sanctuary where our
life is molded and patterned,
our thoughts formed either
for good or destruction.
Our lives roadmap lights
our partway into the divine will
and purpose for constructive living.
With the divine helpful hands,
we willed our lives with might,
Not of our strength,
but the inner leading of the almighty.
For those who listen to
the unexplainable inner call
within their consciousness,
the divine healing elixir
of life is unleashed,
their lives becomes
a noble one full of grace,
for their obedience links
them to the miraculous.
They feel the pains of life,
and of death,
the pain of love,
and of hate,
the pain of knowing too much,
and lack of knowledge,
pain of being sensitive,
and insensitive,
pain of having,
and of lack,
more than their peers,
for that is the cross they bear
of being who they are
in the scheme of things prepared
for only those who walk in the
part of the divine Iliad.
No complaints are needed
for their end are assured.
Answer that call now.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.

Mirror mirror on the wall,
Was I always meant to fall?
Roses white, and dying light,
Silver’s sweet forgiving bite,
She'll ask “why?”
No answers found,
And I'll rot deep
Beneath the ground.
For the only kingdom waiting for me,
When I fall to eternal sleep,
Is two feet wide,
And six feet deep.

I had been dreaming
about eating bruised peaches
that grew from a tree
by the river, its water
thick and sweet as sap.

I thought I saw an old woman
shaking her dustmop,
but it was only the moon
and stardust in the dark
that never stops.

In the fields
there was something barren
like a journey
and echoes of salt
sprinkling on a table
with food laid out for a wake.

The fog from the dream
by the river was smothering;
I was suffocating lying there
where it is said a young mother
once walked into the water
with the pockets of her dress
stuffed full of smooth rocks.

I woke when I heard
shouting that tore out the light
as night came flying by
like a bird dressed for a feast
wearing his finest black feathers.

As I lie here
With eyes closed softly
I think deeply of you
And I inhale stars
The scent of twinkling light
So fresh and alive
Sparkling gentle inside me
And I want to write this feeling
So tentatively
As it must be
Like writing words on bubbles
Delicate and precious
Begging them not to disappear
Like dreams in the morning

                                        By Phil Roberts