2nd September, 2015 Writers
Pushing through the flexible glass,
I step on shattered dreams.
Shards of opaque wishes prick my naked feet.
For once I realise I may be obtuse.

But to be, I must posses no insight.
I must be void of eyes that see into my soul and stretch my dreams. 
To know self, man must behold self.
So nay, I can't be obtuse.

Like plain glass I have appraised my being.
I have stared at blunt hope, entwined with childish longings.
And intense despair birthed misery turned hate for self.
Man quietly loathes self.

Sitting in this quagmire of self hate,
I see the end. Darkness lays sheathed ahead.
Hence, this obtuse suspect looks from a right angle.
The lines well defined, I break.
Lagos, Nigeria
  • Take a step out of self pity and out of stagnant dreams.

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