17.04.2020 Poem

Chronicles Of Twilight Sorrows

By Michael Koomson
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I am an arrogant bag of dust
That's what you see
I am a decorated Tabernacle
That's what He sees
I am a billion brainless soulless man
That's what I see
Life should be lenient to the peaceful
But look at the irony, it is lenient to the ruthless

So I ask breath, twilight, friends, enemies, rising, falling, sickness, health, politics, wicked men, demons, false brethren, Greedy men, beautiful girls, false prophets, mamon, handsome men, romance, sex, marriage, the cold and the snow, sports, religion, philosophy and spirituality, the cradle, the grave, death, Heaven and Hell

You have been here for a long time
Teach me wisdom.
And I also plead life to dedicate itself to my wishes

For unrelenting pain assaults my theology
I am desperately perfect
I am not afraid of the grave
It's a masquerade
I'm afraid of life
Can you hear me?
Or I'm just a mad man?
Am I just a mad man?
Or I have reason to question reason
The absurdity of a soliloquy.
But if you can hear, respond
Because I write with a borrowed pen
And the night calls
I've no kerosene in my lantern
The bench in the park and tranquillity
The still silent lake, corrupted hearts, dead wishes

The grey hair, the clock, desperate desires, love
The anonymous thief who wants to hide my laugh
And the wolf that hunts my peace
Too much life is wrapped in my mourning
Sorry for truth, oh no I'm not even sorry
The sorry creed is making me a slave to expectation

So this is a solo conversation
Am I moving to the end of my rainbow?
Or is it the storm concealing the colours?
I hope it's not too presumptuous of me to think,
To think that someday the Sun will shine on the horizon?

But the preacher said I will go to hell
I have not behaved myself enough
I have not loved enough
Do you know what?
I hurt too
Don't ask me to remain calm
A path has been defined for me
But He didn't ask for my permission
It is easy to choose the left than the right
I asked my parents to explain
Ask the preacher
But he is busy shouting fire and brimstone
And my soul won't let me rest
It has conspired with my body to send me to hell
It is an unholy alliance, tearing me apart
I love very well, my mind, I love holiness with my mind,

I love my Lord very well
But my body is rebellious
Falling prey to the dazzle of hips and lips
And oiled bodies
Glittering wines inviting my buds to anonymity
The cruelty of truth ripping off my comfort
I have a burning readiness to obey
But I have been trapped in a body that wishes me death

My imagination is ornamented with pearls, golden lilies and precious stones

But current circumstances suggest dark phrases
Angels and demons
How am I still alive?
It is this metaphorical dilemma I have not yet conquered

My God I have loved imperfectly.
On weak knees, my heart beckon
My walk with him imperfect but steady
It is this I seek, constant mercy escorting me day after day until my body gives way to sleep

How am I still alive?
Reverence to the transcendent
A script encrypted lays before me
That may be my life's quest
I have masqueraded for so long
I cannot remember what I look like
Self-deception but
We have believed our lies.
But this is a solo conversation
And I am certain no one is listening.
Michael Koomson
Tutor at Eguafo Abirem SNR High

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