A lesson learnt hard,
Giving a bitter taste,
Breathing challenges,
Yet giving hope to many.

An array of human nature
A wild umbrella,
Covering many things,
Yet giving different experiences.

Past lodges
Present circumstances
Legacies being left behind,
Leaving stories for generations

Some to birth
Some to death
Some to old
Some to young

Some to beauty
Some to ugliness
Some to failure
Some to success

Some to hope
Some to disbelief
Some to tears
Some to laughter

Living as a martyr
Living as a coward
A thousand miles to riches
The poor yet a mile

The bundle of joy
The array of sadness
The call to celebrating child birth
The funeral marches to the grave

The road yet to be taken
The road taken
The road not taken
The travel of lives

Footprints of time
Life well spent
Life not spent
The echoes of many

Some go pleasingly
Some go unlively
Some to tragedies
Some to fortune

Some are participants
Some are spectators
Some to strength
Some to weakness

The architect of fate
The dictator of destiny
An array of fear
A mantle of courage

Life
A journey to the unknown
A welcome to many
A farewell to others

Life,
A survival for many.
Life,
Heaven for others.

Life,
A pursuit of happiness,
Keeping up appearances,
Yet covering all sadness.

Life
A walk to freedom
A walk to imprisonment
A walk for mortals

Life
Though tough
Though easy
Life is Life

Life
Some to ease
Some to difficulty
Life is Life

The ascending of life
A life to come
The descending of life
An end to life

Life
The wonders of dreams
The joy of mortal breath
The illusions of reality

The true reality of finality
A living life of life
A living life of death
The illusions of reality

Mortal race to life worth living
Mortal race to dust
Mortal race to finality
A race to the reality of finality

When the curtains is opened,
The play begins.
When the curtains is drawn,
The play is done.

Life
Oh life
Life
Life is just like life with no comparison

Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson

The funeral marches to graves
The descending of curtains
An end to come
The march to finality
A marching to dust
Tarrying to the night
The quiet hollow
The aura of sadness
The exist of a mortal
Death,
A coming at will.
Death,
The king of one’s soul.
Death,
The Lord of the night.
Death,
A silence to life.
Death,
The lion of the forest.
Death,
The ruler of the mountains.
Death,
A piercing of hearts.
Death,
It’s tattoo forever a mark.
Death,
A ticking of the clocks.
Death,
A bringer of eternal peace.
The sweet relieve it bringeth
The residing of mortals
Death,
A bringer of grief.
Death,
A planting of sadness.
Death,
An anthem of black flames.
Death,
A war veteran’s dirge.
Death,
A thief of the night.
Death,
A certainty for all.
Death,
The burn out match stick in one’s ashtray.
Death,
The whither of bones.
Death,
A tragedy to life.
Death,
An endless sleep to one’s soul.
Death cometh
A sweet relief
One’s death
The glowing of darkness
Death,
A mortal’s final rest.
Death,
The ugliness to a beauty.
Death,
The letting out of a final sigh.
Death,
The calling from one’s ancestors.
Death,
A passing through the night.
Death,
The end to one’s pleasurable life.
Death,
I float this Carol,
To you I sing.

Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson

Here,
take my fragile heart,
it is yours to break

Here,
take my tormented soul,
it holds but agonizing pain

Here,
take my sleepy eyes,
they have shed enough tears

Here,
take my whole body,
I wish to disappear completely

In your cold absence,
I have forgotten what
the word warmth meant

Perhaps you were  
the word warmth

But now, you are
the word silence

I talk to you,
but you do not talk back

You handed me your memories from the passenger seat.
Together on long drives home,
we pondered the hushed musings of youth
that patter through heads and echo loudly
in the emptiness of half-formed identities.
Often the drive would be over, but the journey would continue,
the sound of the idling engine harmonizing
with the raucous beat of our young hearts.
Parked besides rows of sleeping houses
and wrapped in the security of a cloudless night,
my car's upholstery was saturated with tears of laughter and grief.
Rambling conversations, important only because they felt so,
shared in the privacy of a moving state,
a state neither here nor there, but in between.
We’d sit swimming in a broth of words
until life would tug open the car door,
spilling our fragile thoughts out onto cold cement,
and the chill of reality would seep into our bones,
and make us pull our ill-fitting egos closer to us,
their fragile unraveling threads the only means to stave off
the inconsolable state that marks the end of childhood.

Orange fur now creamy beige
bleached by hours spent sunbathing.
Dark stripes now faint shadows on your scarred face.
In your old age you’ve started to drool
when I rub your sweet head,
and tattered ears.
-
I stroke your fur, and find my hands dusty.
You wear your years like a suit made of earth.
Now I find myself looking
for the thin veil of dirt on a chair,
that tells me you’ve just enjoyed a good nap.
-
Our home is your personal menagerie.
Despite our best efforts,
you add to your collection.
Birds, mice, lizards, opossums.
Like the man in Australia
who so wished to hunt rabbits,
he released some in his backyard.
The opposite of a very good mouser.
-
As I write this, you’re asleep in my arms,
your nose, with one torn nostril,
leaving a wet spot on my sweater,
and as I write, I pray
I never have to look
at the hole you’ve dug in our garden,
and not see you sleeping in it.

Ring my bells,
When the cells
Of the heavenly abode
Dispels the ode
Of the dark.
I remain embedded
In this tarnished red,
As I tear down the grey walls
And paint it a violet haul.
Like this mind that's hidden,
For thy made it forbidden,
For this aura bewilders you,
And you cowardly view
The new as a symbol
Of destruction of all.

Old man Oxford, plump
and merry in shape
and glee, a professor
of all things written
and green, his friends,
wooden and tall,
endowed him a pipe
of oaken skin, gilded
in bark and mirth, and
with this gift, he
smoked their leaves
and painted tales
of wondrous things,
each puff and ember
smithed his words,
carrying his thoughts
up high, where they
ventured in the golden
glitter of the sky, and
onto pages, forever,
in our minds, so,
thank you kind Tollers,
for you are the treasure
at the start of this
adventure.