By 
Hanging on the branch
In the cold wind blowing,
I see nothingness—growing,
And my world is in a tranche.
And it bellowed down upon my feeble mind:
Death.
And I am a leaf turning yellow
Redemption is no honour
For the soul so lost and beated?
I was fallen. Broken. Defeated.
And for the troubles of my horror,
And the lowered boom on my existence,
Came, Death.
And I ready the noose—yellow.
The soft wind stayed.
The sun watched me burn
Till I made peace with my urn,
And the fire nobody made.
And will I wear this yellow noose and fall?
No, Death.
Take your guilt, take your despair
I own no place in hell.
My past is past the hour of now;
Ahead of now is a life to plough.
And now is a gift, but not your hell.
I may be doomed and fallen but I hold my soul.
Here, Death.
I’ll face my despair.
Author: Taiwo Raymond G
Taiwo Raymond G is a young Nigerian who loves to write—and read. I see no reason (enough) for anyone to give up on life.