Beards of my wrongings
Are now too grey to dye.
Every cell in me
Is a contradiction of sorts;
This heart built pure
Is weighed down by fault.
I have visited goodness
With betrayal.
The saddest part of all is
I know that you know it well;
If my path had no thorns
I would not sin. Yet thorns
On my path are not
My smoothest foes,
The weak me unhanded
By life so grey, I am.
- Nnorom Azuonye
London 08-08-09
No comments:
Post a Comment