Vessels Of Myself Poem by Vincent Onyeche

​There are lots of fun in the nose of picnics
It distract us till the bucket has its kicks
I still can not make out the logics.....
... Of myself, in me and my soul within
Or was I told that tick... tick is a lonely inn
Conceptualized to contribute to its hard fin
That takes me diving deep into a rivers
To swim in dry comfort and wet pains..
To a point I await no motion or rays....
Indeed I've faced the tip of a knife
In the directions pointing the fingers five
All are made to individually dance a jive...
What a confusing complex logics of life
For I still cannot figureout the model of life
Fishes even get drown in an ocean of life.
Do you know life is an endless hole
Oh we are its vessels and roses are our soul
Only God knows where exactly it shall go.
Sad I can not describe the content of a shelf
Where I rest my head and draw myself...
When only I and I, can apparently feel myself.