She lies you know, that braggart
Oh, she met, Michelle Obama at
Between sips of tea, i said to my dear cousin:
Down there in doldrums,
Dark is the only vision seen
And shadows are plated
From breakfast to supper
Dreams are those times you reckon with surreal
It was neither winter nor summer.
That time, my first meeting Michael,
He was wearing his brown skins.
As a kind of kismet
They do that you know, angels are chameleon
The span of knowledge Heaven holds,
Fastens many a wonderer
In diaphanous skein
Neither day nor night sat on its hunches
Neither cloud nor rainbow
Thus, could ride the moment,
Here he was at the edge of real
So brilliant was his aura,
Strength of another worthless tyrant absorbed
My soul knew his guardianship
My spirit he had so awakened
"Taste and see" he said, "of goodness,"
"And relish the nectar of hope"
KISMET © gillena cox 2017
My poem though, having an ilk of its own strayed a little out of focus into a very self-centred shift: my apologies; AND, i do not have a cousin Coucous.
Blog hopping today with
(in)Famous and possibly fictional
11 November 2016