hope, like icarus—flew close
to the sun & melted as ice
would under tickles
the street is without clothes
cries at the
charred remains of something
that would look like a dream fall like
his palms to
the bloodied ground.
& faith means your palms together form
one so tight you feel
your pulse begin to moan.
faith means your skull is
& you look like a
prayer/spell as you wait for earth
to cough out lavenders.
& what if mother placed
something as bright as a future
on your neck? & you lost it to the
say: it must worth a lot
& it got stolen
& kept far from your reach;
hung on the spine of your nostrils.
the street, still without clothes
a boy/some group of desolates
gather around a
burning shrub & spit words
into the mouth
of the flame
in hopes it would get to the sky
in hopes answers would return as rain.
Bobbybryan Uzoma is a Twenty-five year old Nigerian writer. He is the author of a poetry book titled: The Artist, which he self published. He is a Scrabble and Chess enthusiast. Before he begins any poem or project, he offers a prayer to The Muses; to seek inspiration and guidance.
You can reach him via these social media handles:
Instagram: @bryans.pen, Twitter: @_bryanthepoet