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Folayemi Akande

The Care Never Untold

For my love,
is to thy rubies lost,
in advance of my infant raise,
Breasted my ardent mouth,

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A Tantrum by nature

A tantrum,
scenic events by it's nature precedes,
uproar there-in nurtured by lucidity,
incendiary eyes,
bouncing clustered brows,
ought-to-be words of ruin,
in chattering downpour,
to convey a bridling tongue.
A woman to her seldom priceless.

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A Man Of Virtue

For man hath virtue within,
Gifts of plenty from dower,
Giving pure delight in leisure,
With bodies clean and spirit bright,
Quelling forces of temptation,
Into flight of no return,
Captained into endless astray,
Then prosper our works at done,
For struggles may end.

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Golden Wings

These who were Christ sustained,
Each golden wing obtained,
For spirits illumine within,
Downing flights of benign,
With wings of weathering cages,
Through ranks of fading ages,
Where travellers refresh out-worn,
And by the order return,
Nor shame nor loss betide us
For He's at each path we cross.

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Life In All Disputes Affirmed

Life in all disputes affirmed,
Like a single word of dime,
From different mother amend.
In the dusk of acient time,
We end a race yet another begin,
With clustered dust our ending benign,
And then our sweats wearing weight on a fixed price,
As though our fatigue is prejudice,
We claim peace,
Yet, our tongue is a lover of no man's strings,

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A Lonely Box

A lonely box of clustered hopes,
chattered to ruins and groping still,
Searching the dark to what might lost,
A pensive relieve upon my grieve,
That time upon this quest might pend,
To sustain this gleam of hope,
from the dusky crater,
That the shadows from their slumber state might rise,
to tell this tale,
Of a lonely heart in shadowed box.

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Sonnet III: Plaudits To Life

Once a time a nice smile
Has it season for a while
Sweeter than honey
And impeteous fetch of gold
Whence titter fortune with me
And life has it told
That beauty never tarry.

Cute little rose
Fragile to life with but purpose
Embraced by throng
With soft few days to love
Beneath a sky where tough
A throe of the heart
No dying cadence nor long sigh can depart.

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My Country @51

Our sight is shallowed,
Our days are hallowed,
Our field is watered,
Our hopes are fluttered,
Our dreams are pampered,
Our wits are hampered,
Our days are numbered,
Our glory aslumbered,
Our voice may not count,
Our future is no doubt,
Our father land,
Our mother land,
Our country side
Our glorious tide,
United we stand,
Forever we bind.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY SWEET COUNTRY.

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The world so caved

The world so caved
In time so caved
Down in trivia perpetuation
As though the heart is a rusty place for the nostril pant
To ashes be embraced hue of innocent age
For the death of crow the guiltless embrace
Many in throng trembles down the stares of liberation
On high way of victory
A facade of infant desire
Blazing within reach
Yet extinguished with smoke
An obligation for fangle generation

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Lustful conception

To you,
the debonair,
upon whom my glorious linger,
that thunder may wonder,
to all yonder ascension,
strike these aches with quakes of your lascivious beauty,
that all eyes that wander may to your perishment lust,
yet again tide by the wonders of your evening smile.
These gracious glory, and the wonderment of your story thence,
to forsaking all your guilty sakes.
My empress,
your Irish eyes yet again another confession.

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