GREY

Finally we're stripped of this future; The future we once lived in the past dreaming, With those flattery promises Trampled upon by the giant legs of reality- The swift childhood scarecrow. With large mouths we sang to jingle drums "Mother I'll buy a plane; you'll fly to the plain of Wales And to father, I'll spend for all you'll earn", But blah! We only spitted words which paid for biscuits. How daft were our muse which never whispered, "The future isn't the beautiful gate of pleasure park, Neither is it the moonlight tale that ends in joy". So sad we only lived in a revelation that died in Genesis. Dreams dead, promises poked, future flipped, Only hopes swerving through this irony And faith knotted to the suiting words of Oyedepo. Atleast on this ladder I've learnt; the future is just a faith which tenders our doubt.