Storms within my soul

Genre: Poetry
Title: Storms Within My Spirit
Author: John King Ayanfe ©

In today, i go back to yesterdays
That yesterdays whence my lips kiss mics
Truly, my fingers cause drums rumblings
A charger to the lips which pray

A voice which pierce the hearts for repentance
One occupied with the activities in heaven
Now a prodigal son without repentance
Far from the gathering wherein salvation dances

Dancing to the beats of life's challenges
After chief hosts of altars spelt wrongly
Converting celestial activities to financial enterprises
Thwarting dreamers' dreams, salvation and elevation

Preachers of salvation, yet givers of shackles
Preachers of salvation, they yet need salvation
Lovers of money and women; demonic preachers
They murdered my spunk - they buried my drive

Our leader has solo in worship and prayers
Son of Spirit still connected; aroused by THE WORD
For me is a battle of spirit and flesh
Oh wretched flesh with a willing spirit
Who wil fathom the storms within my spirit

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Even if I bow

Image
Title: Even if I bow Author: John King Ayanfe © Even if I Bow. Perhaps, later nor Now. As these tribulations rages; allying Trepidations. They're hymns of my persecutions For selfsame Job's (modern) Mysteries. Found myself I in my Days. Hope broken with psychological Devastation. I've been a wanderer treading in illusion Even if I'd bowed, Mr. Hardscrabble. Childhood negligence, struggles, survival, Lover's betrayals. Sunk spirituality - sorrowful existence Bitter life. Oh! Pains tick in the clock And, O' if I bow Bleeding. Let faith and spunk dance for Joy. Victory is mine! I fight to conquer At last. This warrior atop all brokenness bravely stand Happily I shall Bow. In thanksgiving, to paint my Mysteries. My weary soul shall dance in the singing of Victory. Bowing to life in life after death
Read more

My country

Image
Genre: Poetry Title: My Country Author: John King Ayanfe © My country, a beloved to my soul An abode of my birth and my unborn death I have heard of your fertile soil Oh, your abundance be yet a host to dearth Many tribes like branches on the giant sequoia tree You're a giant! Taller than Kilimanjaro - yeah, Mount Everest Stronger than trojan's horses - swifter than bald eagles Lo, upon your shoulders echoes thunderous lamentations On a sick bed you lay weak and dying Whilst penury, hardscrabble, corruption and tears feast on you Our doctors have failed to ad-misnister true elixir Just golden promises with harsh reality This unfair troubles make our breath heavier than Olumo rock A new day is borne unto this broken land Her illness shall be washed away Song we shall sing - Dance we shall - playing our gangan Around the trees and atop the mountains shall we celebrate Our troubles shall solely be written in history Arise o, compatriot. Come now to beautify this land B
Read more