Cascades of tangled predictions,
Escapades of sincere reflections,
Detour of a seductive prince charming.
From the kiss of his own demise,
He scrambles the earth like a mouse.
Dancing to the sound of shame.
Grrrrgh! Grrrrgh! Grrrrgh! He howls
Amidst the wretched descendants of owls
His stature declined the king’s fame.
Pity him not; all who think naught,
For his pride of foolishness makes him rot
In the dungeon of a wise dame.
Winter wage war against his eminence,
Summer throws him amidst its residence,
Glory to the forgotten frame.
Father’s from freelance, fell from freedom.
My prince of perfection, pricked by peace.
Matters of the kingdom hung by a thread.
Hopping into the path of loneliness,
By running from his own cowardice;
He leaped into a roaring furnace.
The frog, my prince;
He’s nothing better than his looks,
A shadow to his own existence.

by Tokede Daniel


October 6, 2016


October 6, 2016