When Foolery Meets the Grave
A poem
My soul was stoked with the fury for sore, horrendous and menacing episodes. These eyes were tempestuously wild like the burning of a sick inferno so I was brutal with an aversion to pity. I exacted my pound of flesh and made horror a despotic king.
I walked as an atheistic figure as I had no regard for a Creator or the created. My venerable idol was my tent of flesh with all my egoistic pursuits. I loved the beer that made me stagger with the stupidity of drunkenness, disorienting my seat of reason.
My impiety saw me host scores and legions of unclean spirits much to my ignorance. I enslaved my habits as lustful bondages which made me peddle the shame of indiscriminate obscenity as a kingpin of many whorish schemes.
I paid obeisance to my esteemed longings alone and my haughtiness was tall and utterly unmatched. Subjugation became my enforcing strength so my opposition knew the humiliation of a crippling bow. I made the expression of my candour loud, firm and very uncomfortable.
The earth was my footstool and my ego went beyond the crest of stratospheric heights. Strategically, I weaved my lustful influences to find and satisfy my lascivious hankerings.
I idolized my mortality so the existence of a supreme God or a pantheon of religious deities made no difference to me. The machinations of my mind were inconceivably lethal and revolting, making me excel in cruelty and vice.
My jurisdiction was the entire circumference of the earth so the toll of my casualties was astronomical as in the onslaught of a deadly pandemic. But now I’m incapacitated by disease and confined within the four walls of seclusion.
I watch my life slowly ebb away like the dwindling of abundant rivers. Intuitively, I sense the presence of wicked spirits tarry for my soul and idle about within the perimeter of my room. The hysterical voices of the damned pierce sharply from the portals of the underworld.
My eyes bulge through my eye sockets now I’m confronted with strangeness and the antithesis of my beliefs. I loathe the choicest foods and a numbing sensation flushes my frame from my head downwards. I toggle repetitively between the realms of life and death.
I watch my fragile, emaciated build jolt vigorously on my bed as I heave, drawing my final breath. Now I’m in the presence of perilous woes, petrifying terrors and all I ever opposed — I see a stark contradiction when foolery meets the grave.
© Valentine Nnebe 2024
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