This is a poem because I say it is
One. I am alive only because I am not dead
Two. Life is a coward that cannot stand on its own. It is only appreciated because death exists
Three. Inside my closed eyelids exists an alternate reality where I dance to the vibrations of the trinity; where humanity perishes, divinity flourishes, and the pastor's unholy alliance with the evil spirit is displayed for all to see
Four. On the day of the great slaughter of mankind, a chaotic assemble would be gathered in the sixth dimension of interplanetary truth and they would chant, “Upon us is the abomination of desolation, let Pharaoh go!”
Five. My reflection in the mirror poses for a photograph and I am the photographer.
Six. If I dive, would the rivers welcome me with a warm embrace?
Seven. Upon this rock I would build my church and the gates of hell shall never prevail
Eight. I was there when Mufasa was killed. His last words were "the fear of the mob is the beginning of freedom"
Nine. God is Time and as Time flies, Time shall sprinkle down its essence on all of humanity before the beginning and after the end
Ten. This is a poem because I say it is.
Two. Life is a coward that cannot stand on its own. It is only appreciated because death exists
Three. Inside my closed eyelids exists an alternate reality where I dance to the vibrations of the trinity; where humanity perishes, divinity flourishes, and the pastor's unholy alliance with the evil spirit is displayed for all to see
Four. On the day of the great slaughter of mankind, a chaotic assemble would be gathered in the sixth dimension of interplanetary truth and they would chant, “Upon us is the abomination of desolation, let Pharaoh go!”
Five. My reflection in the mirror poses for a photograph and I am the photographer.
Six. If I dive, would the rivers welcome me with a warm embrace?
Seven. Upon this rock I would build my church and the gates of hell shall never prevail
Eight. I was there when Mufasa was killed. His last words were "the fear of the mob is the beginning of freedom"
Nine. God is Time and as Time flies, Time shall sprinkle down its essence on all of humanity before the beginning and after the end
Ten. This is a poem because I say it is.
THE TASTE OF CONSCIOUSNESS
I am a compelling work of art and my pronouns are 'they' and 'them'
I am not clueless; I know exactly what I want. What I want is to stop being clueless
I want you to help me find purpose in this agony
I want you to anoint me. Single me out, open my heart, plant a flower in the granite and weld my flesh back together with the breath of life
I do not speak the words you understand, you do not understand the words I speak
What does my consciousness taste like?
Like the moon when its back has been peeled off
Like water after it has shed its skin at night
Like incense from hell’s altar that rises before the mighty throne bringing forth baskets and caskets of flesh, bone, praise, and worship
What does my trauma look like?
Like the clouds that protect heaven from being contaminated with the cries of the oppressed
Like Lot’s wife who smiles underneath her expensive garment of salt
Like the expensive neck jewellery that strangles its owner
Like the wedding ring that promises a future but prevents the marital womb from achieving posterity
Do I love her?
Yes, I do, but only as an enemy.
I love her like David loved the songs that forced him to dance naked even when his lover scorned
Like Achilles loved his heels that saved him from drowning in the pool of immortality but preserved his demise for the day of Paris’ arrow of retribution
Like Lucifer loved his pride that enthroned him king of the world but ruler of the damned
I love her, like I love you. You, who I shall confide in now, then silence afterwards so that my secrets may find rest in the bosom of your nonexistence.
I am the souvenir of an ambitious consummation of pride and shame, of light and darkness, of goodness and mercy
I am a pillar of fire extinguished by inflammable alcohol, the object in the mirror that is closer than it appears, an apocalypse that would one day be reborn as a crippled Phoenix rising from its cold.
I am not clueless; I know exactly what I want. What I want is to stop being clueless
I want you to help me find purpose in this agony
I want you to anoint me. Single me out, open my heart, plant a flower in the granite and weld my flesh back together with the breath of life
I do not speak the words you understand, you do not understand the words I speak
What does my consciousness taste like?
Like the moon when its back has been peeled off
Like water after it has shed its skin at night
Like incense from hell’s altar that rises before the mighty throne bringing forth baskets and caskets of flesh, bone, praise, and worship
What does my trauma look like?
Like the clouds that protect heaven from being contaminated with the cries of the oppressed
Like Lot’s wife who smiles underneath her expensive garment of salt
Like the expensive neck jewellery that strangles its owner
Like the wedding ring that promises a future but prevents the marital womb from achieving posterity
Do I love her?
Yes, I do, but only as an enemy.
I love her like David loved the songs that forced him to dance naked even when his lover scorned
Like Achilles loved his heels that saved him from drowning in the pool of immortality but preserved his demise for the day of Paris’ arrow of retribution
Like Lucifer loved his pride that enthroned him king of the world but ruler of the damned
I love her, like I love you. You, who I shall confide in now, then silence afterwards so that my secrets may find rest in the bosom of your nonexistence.
I am the souvenir of an ambitious consummation of pride and shame, of light and darkness, of goodness and mercy
I am a pillar of fire extinguished by inflammable alcohol, the object in the mirror that is closer than it appears, an apocalypse that would one day be reborn as a crippled Phoenix rising from its cold.
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BIO:
Peniel Okwuchukwu is passionate about arts, social issues and social justice advocacy, striving to raise awareness to the issues affecting the youth and teenagers in the society. Through his art, he continues to advocate for healthy social systems.
Some of his articles and poems have been featured on The Guardian Life, Havilah Woman, etc. He is also the author of Whispered Screams - a novel, and is the CEO of Truth Zombie Concept, a talent agency based in Port Harcourt.
You can contact Peniel via mail: peniel.o@truthzombieconcept.com, penielokwuchukwu@gmail.com or via twitter: @peniel____
Peniel Okwuchukwu is passionate about arts, social issues and social justice advocacy, striving to raise awareness to the issues affecting the youth and teenagers in the society. Through his art, he continues to advocate for healthy social systems.
Some of his articles and poems have been featured on The Guardian Life, Havilah Woman, etc. He is also the author of Whispered Screams - a novel, and is the CEO of Truth Zombie Concept, a talent agency based in Port Harcourt.
You can contact Peniel via mail: peniel.o@truthzombieconcept.com, penielokwuchukwu@gmail.com or via twitter: @peniel____
