FROM A PAINED SOUL....


Scathe my feeble soul, O delicate wench;
Not with the lava of Hell's pugnacious stench,
But with the stings of Cupid's arm stretched;
Of which we both are animated victims.

O delicate wench whom I would betroth,
Whose acts did adjure my heart to be still,
Amidst Poseidon's boisterous cyclones
Built to cleave our bonds homolytically.

Cuddled and Caressed am I by thy absence,
Drinking pills of comfort daily at Hades Tavern
Till I, became a freelance victim of patience.

Of what use is patience, if it tears to shreds
The very fragile heart it ought to mend????






Written by:
Nwulu Ikechi

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