For the comfort we all seek
The ones, meek
Pay the price of comfort
Some of love, others of thought
We all get the idea
The light dims for some,
for others it flares
But the poet must not always rhyme
Like some of us who want, for earthly stuff, some, those of spiritual clime
Sometime the poet wants for words, for rhyme
Just like the bride who runs out of glow
With which to charm the groom
Like spells, words
Cast by the sorceress on her Innocent victim
Sometimes the poet lacks words
With which to win the admiration of his dear audience
But it is not the case for all
like all things earthly
Brought to life, to die the next minute
The words come and go
Back and forth
Affluence and want
For others, to a greater degree
The Shakespeares of this world
Who from letters have wrung something sublime
Or the Dr. Nnaemeka ugwus, the Ugo robinsons
Philosophers, of words
Setout to put things where they see fit
Those of us, me
Who watch with awe
Such acts
Seeking to know many
only to understand a few
Perchance, there is hope
A haven, for those lot
The few, who to the Art
Are new.

From one of our finest poets Augustine Obi

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