On the 5th of December, 2015
This night I worship in the shrine of words
As poetry splashes
Its cold waters, not on my skin
But within, not on my spirit,
But within, not on my soul,
But within, not on my-
Okay, what else?
As poetry splashes
Its cold waters, not on my skin
But within, not on my spirit,
But within, not on my soul,
But within, not on my-
Okay, what else?
Okay, my skin is shrinking,
Spirit, sinking
My soul, thinking
And my being being pricked.
And this night, I feel it deeply within
as poetry
Wets me softly with its fluid.
Spirit, sinking
My soul, thinking
And my being being pricked.
And this night, I feel it deeply within
as poetry
Wets me softly with its fluid.
Enjoying my time at Ilesha @ a Poetry Festival organised by Professor Lamikanra
My name is Mide Benedict and I'm here sitting and listening to how words form itself in itself and through itself and okay, also by itself.
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