BALCONIES OF UNFULFILLED DREAMS
The Power of essence lies in
willed servitude
dad will say, leaning his aged
back to our torn sofa;
the most glaring testament of
penury in the balcony
of his unfulfilled dreams.
We will watch as he demystifies
secrets in notes
emanating from snores using
several algorithms
downloaded from the brain of uncircumcised ghosts.
His words were catalysts,
enzymes of abstractions
which overtime formed
behemoths of sagacity in
empty
cells of our minds
Dreams are subtile, only legends
accomplish them.
he will say this with his pipe
cigar pointing to the sky,
oozing out whiffs like incense
which appeased for our
shortcomings to the god of
slaps and cords.
We could only see a fragment
of it's reality dawning
on us before he breathed his
last. And then we took
those words, like a ram held
by it's horns, skinned
and burnt them alive on the
altar of heed, only to
see his words producing fruits
of excellence
in the garden of our dreams
Written by Daniel Ezeokeke
Also Published on Grand little things
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