Dripping dew

A rumble in the sky, 
a croon dews down at dusk.
In drought, it drips all night, 
at times a light shower, then a torrent; 
thaws crusted hearts behind shuttered doors. 
         Life blooms, flowers at dawn
causing the earth to know no winter 
but spring and summer; and spring 
streaming to summer. I hum 
the rich ballad while my heart croons 
a continuous refrain. I cuddle the lullaby, think
        no more of the dark hours of howling storm. 
Awake, I drip honey, 
        infused with life. So real:
              God’s pristine love.

The world wilts, 
withers from stanching 
the flow of heaven’s dew. 
It loves romance with death, 
stench of blood down the streets;
       death gasps, a melody.
There was once life, 
        and still is! 

His voice rumbles. 
I hear it croon from turrets, 
in booms and blasts; it shrills 
at irreversible drift to a brink, 
        the end of life. 

If cost of arms 
had armed the poor;
turrets of rage aimed at morbid hate, 
love would’ve stanched the flow of death, 
dew down heaven’s tune, flood the earth 
        with sweet refrain.
© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi

By savingwordtracts

Pursuing The Wind

The world has nothing to offer
those who have the time to ponder,
muse over its shade of wonder
that lures most humans to wander
till they slip, tumble over yonder,
and face God’s eternal anger.

He’s laid the world fairly bare,
that the wise may be aware 
that world’s glory fleets away
like morning dew in sun’s ray,
that nothing should make them sway
from following the strait way.

Soon God will suddenly freeze
the time he gave us on lease;
then will glamor slip with ease
as heat melts a bar of cheese,
fading all we hug with glees,
life of ease and worthless fees. 

© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi 

By savingwordtracts

While waiting

The one I long to see,
like him I strive to be; 
though there be wear and tear,
the prize, I know, is dear.

I dare not ever flinch,
plodding to gain an inch;
for when the stake is high,
I bid fear and doubt bye.

The flesh shall surely fail,
but Grace shall help me sail.
By fair wind of faith I 
wing to the peak—the sky.

Though trough and crest may crawl,
with no one shall I brawl.
In the furnace heat, gold 
finds its glory on hold.

The one I long to see,
Like him I sure must be.

© 2016 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi

By savingwordtracts