Judgement is pronounced upon me by these walls,
For the folly of my sins,
For loving a fool.
This cell holds the secrets of our nights
And the echoes of my ululations,
Fragments of my broken wings
And shards of my broken dreams.

I place my hand between these bars,
in spaces that resemble the yawning gaps in my heart,
Itching to be filled with the love of my jailer.
And then I finger the flowers he places in my hair every night,
He loves me.
He loves me not.
His love is twisted,
And for this reason, I rush back here,
Hoping to make it straight,
Though he tramples upon my hope over and over again,
My feet will always return

Rays of sunlight creep in through the cracks in the wall,
Beckoning on me to escape from this darkness.
I part my lips to plead with my jailer
That he break the lock,
But his kiss clamps them shut,
And inundates my mind with memories
Of the music of his snores,
the rhythm of whips across my back,
The art of the scars on my body,
The perfumed smell of his sweaty shirts; Memories that draw me back to my vomit.

I am a slave with undying love for her master,
who beams at him in foolish gratitude,
As she eats the scraps laid at her feet,
Because it is better than nothing.
Outside these walls is a world of uncertainty,
Fear and new beginnings;
I desire no other fate
Except what has always been
And that of which I am sure.
So I choose life imprisonment,
Unafraid to breathe my last, nestled in his arms.
When I was writing this poem, I thought I had an idea of how builders feel when they’re called upon to resume a building project that was abandoned for a long time. It’s a medley of hope, joy, fear and anxiety. (I left this poem uncompleted for few months, for some reason x_x)
Anyway, thanks for reading! :). Ahem, it’s not cheerful but I hope you enjoyed it. Kindly share and drop your comments!


Death’s Defeat

For a while, I just couldn’t write poetry, and I wasn’t really bothered- reading all ’em awesome poems on blogs almost made me want to quit, you know, self-doubt and stuff x_x. But recently, Damilar3 tweeted this at me: “Remember you have the mind of Christ. Your imagination is 24/7 inspired. Draw from that well.” And I was able to put this down. 🙂


The first ancestors ate the fruit

and tossed the seeds into the future,

sowing sin into forthcoming generations,

bequeathing us with an inheritance of destruction.

I was cursed with a flesh

that bore fruit unto death,

long before the Creator blessed me with breath.

I turned my back on Him,

He turned his eyes from me;

for they could not behold my dark soul baptised into sin.

Daily I walked in the shadows of death

Daily the Father of lights chased her away,

his unyielding love ripping her talons off my neck,

putting our union asunder.

For me, his heart bled

and so did His body in the likeness of the Son.

Red flowed into black,

and white was created.

He finally looked upon me in love.

I return to Eden,

and the flashing sword falls to my feet,

With every step,

the cherubim make way for me.

Heaven sings as I eat from the tree that translates into life.

Where, O Death, is your victory?

“…For love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave…” (Song of Songs 8:6)


Writer’s Block

If you think there are no born leaders, fine, but there are born poets. Here’s a poem from one. (I’ve found me a new poet to look up to :D)

thoughts of a phonic phoenix

dear words! hide not from me :(

dear words! hide not from me 😦

The quill chases heights and the writer’s acrophobic
Vague thoughts casting opaque images on these sheets
I am the fulcrum of my environ; but my will powers a man static
In dire need of words; with shame I watch my list of dictions deplete

The cranium feels like a ton; but it produces thoughts worth not a coin
Oh mighty wizard of Oz; teach me tricks to lure inspiration from beyond
Ye mighty pen! Bleed with ease; for this is my battle of boyne
Drowned in ecstatic poison,is this how I severe my poetry’s bond

The paper grows frail; dog eared meeting doom of sorts in its wait
There’s passion for this art; the beauty should burn me alive
Instead reduced to ashes goes the sheet filled with tomorrow’s debate
The crowd awaits a masterpiece; but this master’s pissed losing touch with his…

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Doxa’s Purge

This is my entry for The Great Purge. Probably the longest so far. x_x

Flexible-Minds; The Mind's Eye

Good morning.

Hope we had a good weekend cos I sure did.

This here is Dunni’s Purge. A realistic piece that goes to confirm that trust is really a box of chocolate and you never know what you’ll get.

Please send your entries to loonpurge@gmail.com

Hola me on twitter @sunkit1



I was doing the dishes when my mum announced, “Feyi, you know you’ll be going to the university in few months’ time and I’ll need someone to assist me around the house so I employed a house help.”

“Okay. Male or female?” I asked, trying to sound indifferent.

“Male. He’s arriving next week from Togo.”

“Ugh, Mum! You know I don’t feel comfortable around male house helps. Moreover, how are you going to deal with the language barrier? Both of us can’t speak French fluently.

“See, we are in the twenty-first century”, she informed me, as if I’d just…

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Poem: Tour of Violence (2 Chronicles 7:14)

May God heal our land. Amen.

The Abuse Expose' with Secret Angel

In memory of 9/11, we’ll take a little a tour.
A visual depiction of violence going from shore to shore.
First goes the USA,
with reminders of that day.

Then across our land,
with violence at hands of man.

Then to Ethiopia and Rwanda we travel,
where bride kidnapping and rape unravels.

Next we travel to Bangladesh and Brazil,
where it is acceptable to “honor kill.”

Then we go to Pakistan,
with bride burning across their land.

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Every New Day

Whatever trouble I may have with posting consistently on this blog is definitely not due to writer’s block or laziness. I do have a lot to say. But tonight, I just want to post an excerpt from a book that blessed me so much. It convicted me, filled me with fear and trembling before the Almighty, and brought me to my knees before the throne of grace. When the author of the letter to the Hebrews says that the word of God is living and active, and penetrates to the soul and spirit, I believe he is not just referring to the Bible, he is also referring to the word spoken by his servants on earth. And the word of God is truth, regardless of how bitter it seems or how uncomfortable it makes us become. Here goes:

Many rejoice for seeing a new year and they celebrate their birthdays with funfair.  They do not realize that seeing a new year without living for Christ only brings a man or woman one year closer to his doomsday.  There is nothing to rejoice for, here on earth, if one does not take each new day and each new year as a valued opportunity, given to man by God, to check his or her life, repent of his or her sins, and purify himself thoroughly through the Blood of Jesus and the Word of God.  Each new day of a man on earth is a gracious privilege to seek God earnestly, so that God, in His mercy, will enable him to escape the great tribulation here on earth and the eternal horror of hell, and so that He may count us worthy to be raptured with Jesus when the trumpet shall sound and to live and reign with Jesus in His eternal Kingdom.  In addition, God keeps you alive and well so that you can work for Him by preaching the gospel to sinners who don’t know Him, and who don’t know what is awaiting them in eternity, and so that you can use your other gifts and talents to work for God in your local church and in your environment.  There is absolutely nothing to celebrate in this world outside God, and outside Christ. 

Are you taking advantage of each new day, each new year to make peace with God, purify yourself, work for God and prepare for eternity? Don’t be a fool; be wise unto salvation.  Escape the eternal regret and sorrow that is coming upon the disobedient very soon.

It was culled from ‘Hell is far more terrible than you think’ by Tope Oni. I hope this blessed and convicted you too. Peace.



Love letter 2. I prefer this to the first. :’)

Mental Images

Hello again.

I’m on a roll mahn; more than one post this week. Hell to the yeah!! This is why we do deez….

Okay, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. Since you liked the first one so much, I’m guessing you’ll love this even better. Another love letter from Mr Wyat.


Hello stranger. I guess that moniker would suit me perfectly – for I am the stranger. As I picked my pen to write, a thought stole across my ravaged mind (more on this later): I am the bandit armed with a potpourri of ‘hopefully’ potent phrases that will sweep you off your feet. That is silly right? Well I think I am even sillier for thinking I can push you into a state of ecstasy with carefully threaded thoughts.

How are you?

I am writing a second letter because I didn’t get a reply for the…

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