Saturday, January 30, 2010


Will it hold my spirit
as it climbs?
My soul,
as it rides this curl of smoke
that creeps up the thatch?

Pure, rain-washed,
prodding the murk,
probing Erebus,
sowing light.

Vaulted by this rhapsody,
a web of notes, strong,
within me,
against the Wind.

Will it
hold my spirit?
Will it
my soul?

As Visions lay, cremated,
by impotent ash;
longings withering in
the stale breath of years
as I lay, snared
by dreams unlived.

Will these offspring crumble too,
a specter
of bygone years?
Will the footprints grow sun-baked
with no sprout of green?

is the dream that strains,
the stealth,
that stumbles in - unbidden,

to pull the silent strings,

to birth the notes, to
rapture me.


Favoured Girl said...

Hi! Thanks for dropping by my blog and leaving me those wonderful, constructive comments. I really appreciate it! And now I shall reply your email...


Hey, thanks for your comments on my blog. I love your poems and particularly this one as I am a man of/with dreams. I often wonder and fantasize about how they will come through and as a human, I sometimes fear too. However, I know, unstoppable, is the power of a dreamer.
Thanks for sharing. I now follow your blog :)

Eyitemi Egwuenu said...

Thank you Le Dynamique Professeur (LDP)

Dreams are the precursors of reality. Everything we see around us at some point existed only as a dream in somebody's mind. Even the universe, before creation must have existed as a thought/dream in the The Mind of God.