Young Lewis,  

Not saving a penny,

Not saving a life, 

He would hit his chest wide, flaunt about the dead ends,

Lives he’s blended, elders he’s offended, broken hearts he had denied the mends, moments he had walked away a dying friend when deep in his pockets were the require meds. 

Hoping on absolution, after the Father’s heartfelt prayer on this Friday morning he had said Amen. 



He prayed for bliss,

hoping for the very moment death would for once feel the struggle,

Hoping for the very moment verbal trade would win a fight over death, so the sick boys would be relentless with the mumble.

Snap a young man’s neck with a burner, 

His knees sagging off, contained in an extension with ease,

This posture came with life's directives, struggling with the shutter,

Death snapped, and the young boy was absorbed with vivid light into a bright new perspective with ease. 



If it ends it ends, 

But karma won’t give up till it ends, 

Four boys off the blocks jerked open the church door, found a surprised Lewis and buried bullets in his chest, 

A comma feels too long to end a wordy cycle, so human borrowed help from a fool who could barely stop his bicycle from ending the hilly cycle.  

Lewis hoped off coma after 365 Days, further plunged into misery's mystery, his soul would wish for a change in a flamed fury, birthing an unending cycle.


©Godwin Okhuoya