FEEBLE FLESH. There was time I was callow,
My mind was delicate and shallow,
On how life works,
To mortals, either in luck or mock.
Once, I put my hope on flesh,
Though my days and intellect was fresh,
Oblivious that men are mere mortals,
A subordinate to the immortal.
Just like pencil in the hand of a fabulator,
Men are the vessel of the creator,
There are depute of the supreme spirit,
Their feats and entity are finit.
Realms come and go.
Just like a brief wind,
The haughty monarch above,
Is now worn in the earth below,
Confined in casket as the last meed.
The avid eyes behold the failable flesh,
And make the heart gain sore test,
Spirit is willing,flesh is weak,
Gaining the world,to make the soul sick.
KINGSLEY CHIKE OMEJE.
