March 7, 2018 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Zachary Spears photo



Micheal Ace




How to walk on the moon



Your arm needs to be strong

If you wish to neil your dreams to trees

And watch as they mock the wind.


To survive is to walk out of fire

With wet skin and damp cloth.


How do we know you’ve spelt survival

If you do not send your ashes home-

To burn is to become a new being.


Mother punished my brother last night

She rubbed pepper over his prick.


I heard him groan; fighting for peace.

I heard him say he’ll grow up, find freedom

And watch mother starve, in pain, to death.


He knew what it means to seek vengeance

But not survival- he left home at dawn.


Do not cut yourself if blood startles you.

You cannot win a war without wasting a soul

And you cannot lose without being a wasted soul.


To survive is to eat a neighbour’s flesh

And drink from another man’s blood.


But there are already footprints on the moon

You do not need a strong arm anymore

Or need to neil your dreams to trees


You just need to write a suicide note

And set to walk on the sun- live


Breaking new boundaries









Last night, i watched till there was just one star in the sky.

And there were two roads in my head: one led life; two, death.

The gods gave me three candles to burn around the star, so it would lead me on.

The candles burnt in four colours: red, black, white and blue.

They said red and black was evil, white and blue was God

So I raised five fingers; painted two white, three blue.

And then six angels fell before me- one from each heaven, the seventh

was with God.

The candles went off and the star leapt into my eyes

Then i saw more than seven continents in the world.

I read the word on the eighth, it was my name.

I saw in her life, healing, freedom, peace and everything that doesn’t

have the colour of death.

Nine earthly kings cast their crowns, lifted their hands and bowed their hearts.

I gave them one planet each and blessed them with stars. Others perished.

Then the sun walked into my mind and i saw myself rule the Paradise- a

city after God’s eyes.

This is my revelation of numerics, the engineering of numbering gods

and making one.






Micheal Ace

A poet and writer from Osun state, Nigeria. Author of ‘Sermon from a stammerer’ and ‘Scarlet silk’.

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