Awake I in the wee
Of morn
Standing awe in
Front of the mirror
seeing I a reflection of pain
My lips could'nt
Move
Suddenly in the
Mirror
an appearance of
Imageries of
Timber
and caliber
Saw I
All
Dressed in white
For that wonderful
Occasion of davine's...
She's so beautiful
Graceful
Blissful
But not
Happy to be
With John
Wonder I why
I mean why
Not being happy
Race of life
It's not as
Beautiful
It appears
Or seems to be
Many appeared
Well dressed
graced
And even poised
As I watched keenly
Before my mirror
Only to see another
Version of John
Being a Ritualist
a king-pin
An addict of miseries
All these knew she
but how
When
Who
Come for her
Rescue
for she's blinded
of the materials
saw her in John
Who shall rescue Her from this
Hell trapped
Ask I myself
In mute
Then wonder I
Why worry I
Because wife I've not
Money have I not
Not even home
For self
It's funny
Race of life
Differs from
ANOTHER
Run only
And only
On thy lane
For running on thy lane
Would thine focus
Be alive
To have a fulfilled
Race in life
Suddenly the images
Disappeared
saw I still in awe
Life's race is not
For the swifter
or the swiftest
not even for
Knowledgeable
Yea
But opportunity
Happens to
Them all
Tell I thee
Run with the
Application of light
the rules of
engagement
Apply them all
So that at the end
You will cross
The finish line
The race of life
Appears a mystery
Puzzle ...
Put it together
and you'll be
VICTOR
Written by David Njoku
