It lies within—
In your deepest quiet place.
Stir the rivers of your soul
Till oceans rise
And break their bounds.

No being lacks a gift,
No soul without endowment—
Each formed with purpose.

Let passion's quiet flame
Unfold dimensions unexplored;
From steady drops
An ocean forms,
And skill, when honed,
Will crown the work with beauty.

Close your eyes to blind applause;
Open them to the greatness
Seeded in your frame.

Shine—
Till your very presence
Reveals the Perfect Spirit
Living through you.

MOTHER
A word thoughtfully
Spiritfully
Embroidered.

Many pushed forth
A few nurtured and brooded.

Mother—
An entity enjoyed by some
But tasted by so few.

Hurray
I sing of a woman
My world.

I celebrate my hope
Wrapped for me
From God.

Happy Mother's Day
To my Odogwu

Blank as snow,
my mind has resigned—
Not from frail nerves,
but from the loss of momentum.

My fingers wrestle with the pen,
my hand clings to the laptop.
Open the tap—
Let even a drop fall.

Inspire me,
that I might inspire others.

Little by little,
a mighty ocean will stir,
erupting—
Breaking every bound.

Tap the keys, O hand.
Sketch the thoughts, dear fingers.
Just let the mind ignite—
Rome will be built, for sure.

Not unaliving,
but ensuering,
a cure will be found.

“To love is to lose with grace.” — Unknown

Spill thee an ocean
Let the waves wail high,
their sorrow shattering the hush.

My heart aches—
cradling love
too heavy to hold.

With trembling hands,
I let go.

Leaving you,
a grief-shaped freedom
haunts the air.

Young plants laugh—
carefree in the wind,
smiling at the sun,
whispering, “Time waits for us.”

They sway,
but do not root.
They stretch upward
without drawing deep.
Still they hum, “Time is a friend.”

Unaware—
of the soil's silent pleading,
the richness beneath,
the mercy in the earth.
They hope for a tomorrow
not promised.

Wisdom calls—
“Serve Me in the days of your youth.”
But they chant back,
loud in their pride,
“We are the pulse of this age!”

The Master stands,
hands open,
eyes full of knowing:
Take position.
Take your place.

And I,
a quiet observer,
a hopeful heart,
wonder—
Will they hear Him in time?