The sick healer

My soul aches,
Like a brain suffering from tumor.
My soul breaks,
Like that of a new day,
Telegraphing my tears  along with dolor,
Sormoning the beams of the sun each day.
.
So I sought this healer amongst waters,
Where birds sings and monkeys dance
Along the boulevards of blindness,
In a great hall of fame and great matters.
And herds converged, minds convened
Only with the Polaroids of sightlessness.
.
Like a drunkard she prays,
Come! Come to me she says,
To an abode of hypocrisy, jealousy, blasphemy and misery.
The therapeutic healer, healing in agony,
Dealing in the paradise of nightmares.
She would make a good gift in heaven,
But a better bribe in hell.

Balogun David {drunk poet}
Drunk Poets Society
© 2017