THE ARMOR
Seconds turn to minutes
Minutes to hours
Hours to days,
Days to weeks
Weeks to months
Months to years
With an arrow as sharp as it was when
it first pierced
Longing to be removed but rather grew bigger and dug deeper
Pain like oxygen
Hurt with every breath
The arrow multiplied in years, making the wound bigger and deeper
But what hurts most?
The arrows pierced deep inside my heart
or the archers who shot it?, Yes the wound made by the arrow could kill and take ones pain away forever
But at the sight of the beholding the archer who shot it the pain intensified so deep that death seemed to be far away and life farther than death
Oh! death where is your
sting? I said to myself
With hot tears passing through my vains as blood but on the outside was paraded a smile
Worn by a beautiful face
Telling of joy, peace and an innocent heart
Who knows nothing of the pains of the world
Says the people of the world, but deep inside
Is a broken Spirit and a pierced hearth Armored by the flesh and a beautiful smiling face.
Not dying but not alive either, abandoned by her protectors whom she protected but was shot by,
broken deeper than a cracked clay at which only it’s potter can fix
The potter knows his clay
And the clay it’s potter
But hurt knows no one
Except those it is fired at
It’s an arrow that multiplies with just a little trigger from the
outside.
But the hurt isn’t the armor but the inside of it
Which is sometimes broken beyond repair
Since it was not earlier detected with the damage unseen on the outside
How many are you with a sound armor but a broken content that needs tending that
But cannot be tended to because only what can be seen can be tended
But
just like only the potter can fix a broken pottery
Only the maker of the armor can fix the broken armor from that which can’t be seen. go back to your source oh wounded
Let the maker fix your armor.
By
Odiwanor Favour O
