Buried within the dark corners of my heart is an enormous chest,

Not of gold but of a hidden knowledge,

A violation of the Creator's will,

A hidden knowledge the supposed worst of being would quiver for,

My heart sores from the immortality locked within its chambers,

"Tell a soul," my mind incessantly pleads,

Live there a soul that won't reject me for my misdeed?

How do I lead a life absent of scruple when my guilt hunts my nights and mornings?

Where do I flee when my guilt shades my every step like a tireless shadow?

Cried to the Creator but my voice won't reach out,

I have been sucked of the little hope hanging within,

Left with nothing but a mere speck of dustlike faith,

Who dares accept me for my worst if not the most high?

I painfully await the courage to bow my head in submission to him,

But until that moment arrives,

Shall I tell a soul?
© Babatomiwa Seriki