• Posted on 2024-10-27
• Lifestyle
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• Written by Optimist victor

MY GIFT, MY BURDEN.

MY GIFT, MY BURDEN

For in the days of moses, 
When roses were nurse and grow in oasis, 
In sceptre of hope, 
We live, grow and survived, 
'cause life isn't a bed of roses.

My gift, is like a rod in my hand to lead my world as a moses, 
I carry a flame, both bright and bold, 
A lantern's glow through nights so cold, 
It warmth a blessing, a shining light that guides my path 
Yet,  the shadows stretch where I abide. 
A sword made with silver, sharp and keen, 
It cuts through doubt, through all unseen, 
For my mouth is like a babel, where all different sizes of bullets are hostage.

My sound like trumpet 🎺 
My voice like a sounding bullet, 
My gift,  my burden, 
Wings upon my shoulders rest, 
A gift that lifts me from the nest, 
No mess, but give me text to know what's next, 
Yet, every flight, though high I soar, 
Leaves scars upon my spirits core.

Lonely in the world, to create my planet, 
'cause it's up there, the gift never die and the burden is not too heavier for me to carry and convey. 
So, I stand still to continue to dream as birds in the realm of eagle's.  ©Optimist victor 💫