A Preacher's tale


Vanity saith the son of a preacher, all is vanity. 

The new wall today,

becomes old tomorrow.

Clenching to a thing you borrowed

when you fall heir to jillion, is sanity.


The wall is tall.

Most assuredly, the tall will fall.

Your flesh will wane. 

No horn will be left to fray,

 after the Call.  

Walking away empty,

 You will fade like a shadow, stepping into the narrow hall. 

Is all not vanity?


You slay,

for what wont stay. 

It is vanity, 

if in the very end you will have to pay. 

It will stand against you.

All that you have said, and you will say,

with a cry "The orphan's bills i have paid."


Padded in your heart, 

are cogitation about today.

A fresh dawn will come, tomorrow.

 it will be a new day.


A day comes,

Earnestly, you will pray "Let tomorrow come."

but that morrow will never come.


The deep will cease to exist.

The land was separated from the deep. 

This sphere emerged after the caboodle of deeps.

It is deep.


Hell and death will be told as a tale.

Once up a time "The world exist"

The preacher ended it like a tale.

The end is here.

De facto, judgment is on it's way. 

Soon it will be here. 


©Okhuoya Temitope

tturpswag@gmail.com