Sautéed in the child like death, we bask in the seeming-less kerfuffle of regret.
At the edge of the deep we stare into our souls,
for we are plagued with memories of forgotten.
Men wither into forever, the thoughts of the great abyss.
A heart of mass and a cage of loneliness,
with which we share with our souls.
We are mindless romantics, lost creatures, for we lavish the destiny of tomorrow and long for the tears of yesterday. Time is forever, victims of necessity. The flatline of the earth, as it manifest in the dark. For who knows the depths of a man’s heart. None on the surface nor some below. For we are puppets of our breath and light beams of contrast.
Man is the cave of the hallow cry’s, the barrow of true evil and desolation. They are seeds that die in minds eyes and strings of eternity, that rim shot into the great stars of fear.
For the man you love is gone and the child you bore is dead. He lay in your fears and on a bed of rot. I smile at the grey, for it holds the me, my truest self. The thorn of smiles and the grape vine of my tongue. For my youth is gone and my days are few. The clock of barrenness ticks with echos. For this is the soul of a man haunted by Himself. Run soul, run!

Poem by Nana Kwadwo Agyei Addo