I now feel its time
for me to drop my sword

The battlefield graced me
with a cold shoulder
favored           another warrior
of fading gold and cubic zirconium

My sword lands by
my feet
but I fear nothing, stay forever
high like samurais
I'm a Hun

To those
that wanted to see a
White flag

My pen slowly drips
to death


Somehow it knows
I'm not ready to be the
the speaker of truth,
pictures painted with words to
heal those that can’t see
any hues outside of the
ROY.G.BIV in the words I
preach through
the one on stage,
preaching what will happen and how its going to happen, to all through poetry

This is my last poem
I treat it like my 1st, and now
all I can do is bow my head and pray
that you remember my
5’5” 189lbs figure, Olaposi


I am not
an onomatopoeia but I
am what I sound like