Poetry

Thirtieth December two-thousand and twelve – F.U. Onyeoziri

It looms in my face, so near I have forgotten it’s in the future.
I can’t steer my desire to seize it,
Even as I stretch to my full length just to pluck it,
Yet it still is just a hair’s breadth away,
Just right there almost at my fingertips, almost!

I have parlayed patiently with you these past 364 days,
As an subservient and acquiescent slave,
I never betrayed my loyalty to your grandeur.
Now incredulously, I stand here utterly skeptical of
why I feel this trepidation? Of why I care? Why my pulse rises?

An exciting odyssey it has been thus far,
A peregrination fraught with spectacular challenges.
Safely we have navigated 364 miles, leaving us with barely one
Before we arrive at our destination.
With each kilometer we expend, anxiety tautens its cold grip on me,
I still have that nagging feeling that this is not actually the end.
They say the world is spherical, and the demise of one journey,
A mere genesis of another.

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