EPISTLES_01 BY ABIOYE SAMUEL

#EPISTLE_01
(To the proud)

Dear you proud
This rain of my epistle,
Is not to shower you with compliments.
But to quench that fire in you,
Burning obscenity.

To you proud
Chirpy not in your deeds.
For they are deals to destruction,
And inevitable mar to your madness.

Or have you seen a star,
Standing lonely, Claiming Galaxy?

For its glory is innate with its spices,
That it can't resist to be alone.

Or haven't you comprehend,
That the glory of the moon,
Escalates from the grace of the sun?

For if the moon put on the hat of pride,
And the sun stays inert.
Where then shall be its(moon) brightness?

The brightness blighted with pride.

But to you proud I state,
To sew for yourself,the garment of meekness,
And dwell in the hut of humility.

For your feather of pride,
Can't endure the tempest of loneliness.

Study the broom and the stars,
Whose alone is an elusive task.
But in group and bound.

Lesson from the dove of the sky,
Who rules in anarchy—no leader.
For the forerunner retards,
To be subdue by the others.

So,you proud
Learn from these things
And meditate on them.

For this epistle is not a Prize of encouragement,
To compliment you of your deeds.
But a dreadful beast, to scold you,
Into rectification.

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