Baskadia

There are voices,

Seems like echoes ringing loud in my head,

Of things and times,

Changing over and over,

No source of relief from the pain,

From the guilt of ignorance,

What do we actually know?

What things are?

Why they be?

Whence they are?

Can a picture be revealed?

A detailed image of the word; know?

What do we actually know?

When things occur?

How they are?

From whence they are?

Is anything so clear and vivid?

Or are we trapped in a world confined?

If there be any resolve,

If I had any stance at all,

Fighting the voices making me psych,

I would like to just conclude,

The things we actually know,

May just be echoes of things we don't,

Seeking to drive us into an infinite location,

Keeping us trapped in the mystified realms,

Of knowledge,

Silenced forever to seek to know the why's,

And how's and when's and where's and what's,

What's we actually know.

OLAOKE STEPHEN

28/04/2022

But I'll rather sit with coffee,

And reminisce on cool stuffs instead,

I hate the realms of the psych and great,

Oh crap! Reminiscing is the gates,

Plunging into the realms,

Get me outta here,

Take your crappy hands off me, death,

Yet a little while,

Let me know!

If of nothing at all,

Let me know of saving grace,

That's enough,

I would be lost there,

And only there.