Matthias Pantaleon

Biography: Playwright | Poet | Lyricist | Hymnist | Stage Director| Art Connoisseur | Entrepreneur

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Matthias Pantaleon
Saturday 18 April 2020


Holy don't live here no more
These days they desecrate temples
With unholy verses like the other room and python dance
If glory were to be human 
She did wear burnt cologne like our priest

If it wasn't for heights 
Plain lands won't feel so low
Got awkward feet; the miles ahead seem weird
Nothing wages power in this changing time like rolling dice
I keep telling you to seize the moment
Because yesteryears beget stillborn
This is for the passing years  
The time when we had nothing to fight for
These days the sun sinks faster
We backbite; twice as swift

Lets not talk about the crown
Sometimes we crawl in anticipation of fear
I ate mine for lack of bread
Kept the Bible close because some pages cannot be ripped

We cannot build castles on our own graves
Or tell bedtime stories with grief-stricken tongues
Truth told in haste is short-lived
Whereas lies are tailored to outlive time

You are the shrine that housed idols
I, for one, dislike paganism
Thus, the opening passage that refused editing
I am like an epilogue without full stop
Simple diction, singular tense, single line space

The tulips that must grow well 
Must first be well
I drank wellness to the brim
Problem is, there is none I can think of
Except the life that I now lead

Here is to the glory we never had
It takes round peg to fit into round holes
We are like cone and pentagon forced into a square hole
And this mess, is what we make out of our miserable lives
But, I refused to be mistaken for garbage

Thus, I went west
Led by North Star
To eke a living out of plenty
You stayed behind
Perhaps to reply the letters I never wrote
How could I have written you
With all those distractions and ghosts from your quarters
It takes four feet to crawl and two to walk
I neither crawled on broken limbs nor walked on tired heels

This is what we make of life
Lets not talk of thrones
Some kingdoms are not of this world
I run with horsemen for lack of unicorn
As God is my strength, I overstretched the gap

Heard you became a rain maker  for lack of dreams
Well, night rain cant put out my flames
You may want to go back to the drawing board
We are never too old for white chalk and blackboard
Except that time makes the heart of the wicked dark to new lights
In the same vain you set fire to my repository
You should know that some inks stain beyond the surface
And no matter what happen to my grades
I will not repeat this class with a broken slate


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