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If Lucifer lived like a Saint for one night, Whom shall the prophets pray against till the sun rises?

If a Saint dines with Jezebel on the table that was supposed to turn for you this year,
Whom shall ye sack first?
Regardless of whom ye push firstly, you share a DNA with the witch and the gene of a selfless Saint.

And if you give up on what ye long thirsted for but spill away the half a cup of water gained, whom do ye hurt?
The dry throats of your dreams, or the loved ones whose dreams,
were you achieving your full cup of water to feed their thronged oesophagus praying for your longevity?

Your “you’re not good enough” state is what the anonymous path takers of your footsteps see as the “best they wish to be”

The love you sought to be the fuels of your propellers,
but was a needle in the ocean before you are actually the wind that pushes your propellers to the mountain top.
They are all around you, like the air, you’re not meant to see them, like your breath.

I talk to you, you farmer of dreams, you left your hoes behind, you in mid-air and the hunger of the traders before
Together, ye trio form dots of stars opposing the constellations.
Ye stopped the universe from being.

Turn around ye are not weak, ye are only meek
Turn around, let the hunger of the traders before thee be thy behind,
you in mid and your hoe before. This was how thy map was vectored.

Go back to the farmlands,
quit the quitting,
ye cannot feed thy own feelings,
you’re not responsible for that,
feed the people,
they shall feed thy feelings in return as Thanksgiving.

I quitted poetry for six hours only to demonstrate to ye the equal pain you caused your generation when ye gave up.
I didn’t burn my poems,
I burnt your regrets,

I quitted poetry for six hours to reveal to thee how you left the three hundred Spartan soldiers dismembered in their blood,
in the valleys of the Persians when ye left them without a retreat, as you surrendered.
But there’s a way, become their Daniel back, prophecy to them, they shall wake.

Quit saying I quit,
Give up on giving up Soldier,
Ride-on with me on my gallant horse,
we continue the journey from where ye stopped.
I’m taking my shields of POETRY back,
spit the blood of defeat away thy mouth carries.
Take your shield again , we ride back to the battle, till we die……………..


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