"The Thing" - quivers from gods.

His eyes roll back and the nape of his neck tenses.
The triangle of his neck, stretches.
His arms; flex, as his fists he clenches.
He is firmly locked in place.
Stiff as a rod, he falls off the chair.
Rapidly, his eyelids begin twitching.
The air they displace; almost palpable.
With the strength of a thousand men,
He proceeds to moving his arms back and forth.
Sinking in fear,
I sought for my friend.
I call out his name,
knelt beside the small doorway of his;
I was received by the white of his eyes.
Unsure and terrified,
I can see as he foams in the mouth.
My friend,
he was not there,
in that helpless body of his.
And as he danced ferociously
to the disturbing but quiet tunes of his mind,
a gentle chaos ensues
as our classmates scurry away.
“The thing has entered him again.”
One of us says.
My hands between his head and the concrete floor,
I can hear their minds and mine wonder;
whatever was it that possessed me
not to fear the wrath of the gods
as they dealt my friend a handsome number.
Had I known what I now know today,
As my hands cradled his head over a decade and half ago,
He is having a seizure, I’d explain.

Seizures are not arrows and the gods are not to blame
#neurology #Neurological disorder.

4^th Feb 2021
Fimishola-Samuel

Morning Glory

Arise,
to the quiet sweeps of fingers
strolling across the forearm boulevard
gentle whirlwinds of increasing diameter;
“Morning.”
The imposing stance of a Quebracho,
a fine piece of timber.
Quality response,
to match that vocal timbre.

Entrancing scents of Black Opium,
silhouettes skirted by shadows;
together,
dancing into the still of the night.
Celestial bodies perfectly align;
the tides are right
and off her chariot of fire,
she gracefully alights.
“A good morning to you too.”

Fimishola-Samuel
2/19/2021