Poetry: My Gift, My Burden

Published 5 days ago in My gift, my burden.

Samuel Hope Uchechukwu 5 days ago

8 16

Poetry: My Gift, My Burden

Gifts are relatively often time synonymous to issues as one who is well versed in anything is a national treasure used and deployed for many duties.

Many times, these gifts takes us to high places albeit their commensurate challenges.

On some days, we feel like not being gifted and on other times, we feel we are the best.

And then, when we temporarily lose our gifts, it is s a tale to see us clamor and whine to have the gifts we once previously disregarded.

These Gifts of ours can take a lot time and resources and sometimes, work just has to be done because should I have the cure of any neurological and biological epidemic or ailment, I most definitely would not only be in national halls but also attend international conferences.

Nonetheless, the question remains
if anyone would ask to know if I have ever gone on a journey by flight or is one afraid of heights or what my preferences are- the list goes on and on.

Will anyone ask if I have someone I haven't been in touch with because of just how much work I have to put together to make things work.

In the light this, it is can be seen that having gifts cutting across all fields and areas of life can be depleting.

But then, I won't stop writing as Poetry is my gift and burden and I will gladly bear.

#Poetry #Arts #Creativity Journeys

Lyrics

Poetry: My gift and Burden

Tis a blessing, I must say
To be gifted of words, he spake
To tell stories of day
That makes the greatest of minds shake

In the darkest of nights, my eyes fight
The temple trembles and falls
But a heart as determined as light
Must stand firm like a candle tall

Spake ye these words, my child
Or have your quill tell the tale
Of ills, troubles aren't mild
Your gift can't be up for sale

What is a gift without burden
For gold goes through the hottest of flames
Tethered dangerously are they laden
But shineth brightly without shame

"Let him go", the mastered echoed
"What shall his gift be", they quivered
Tis poetry, his gift and burden, they bellowed
Can he handle such, questions showered

Let him the choice be made
For all answers cannot always sway
Like diamonds and gold laid
He must find himself or nay

Be they tall and prickling as knives
Words as bitting as fangs
Apologies but he would learn to thrive
Be he happy or his head bangs

I may be locked in the towers of thorns
Bathed in poison and vile
Lost in thoughts and falls
Don't care tis the prison or Nile

Speak ye when thy voice shakes
Write when your pen freezes
Or still thy blood takes
Thy litany of woes shan't be lost to steeze

Keep quite not, fearless readers
Till I speak and write of all ills:
Decadence, rivalry, perfidy, poverty, immortality and leaders
Would you speak on them? Yes, I will!

Poetry, my gift and burden
I'd be glad should I be in heavens
But come what may even in the dungeons
I am glad tis my gift and my burden