THE STORM BY ABIOYE SAMUEL

THE STORM

This is a rhythm for the broken voice.
A new beat for the lurching legs.
A comic for the humdrums​ Soul.
And placid for the heavy heart.

That when you smelled the aroma of sorrow,
When the view of hope becomes fuzz,
when the path of continuity becomes narrow.
When the moon of complication sets,
And when that your last garment is of tediousness and weariness.

Tremble not o Yee!

But borrow a new garment of encouragement
From courage,
Collect it's footwear of faith with it's ​sole of gallantry,
And it's hat of hope.

For even braveness has its own weakness.
Panic not I state.
For the night may seems to be long,
Like a marathon race in the face of the athlete.
Keep on thoughts of overcoming,
Like the moon on eclipse with the sun.

Never haste to succumb to defeat,
And never retard to conquer.
For a warrior is thought to retreat and to defeat.
For if he harken not to retreat,
Then his soul shall sing the songs of death.
And if sun of victory raise,
Where then shall he spot it?

So Raise up!
Look ahead!
Wipe your tears!
And see that star,
That twinkles hope.

© Abioye Samuel
-The_Poetry_Apostle.