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POEM: Losing Self By Wilfred Deigh

You are twice as lucky as the number seven

when you’re twenty-seven, I once read.

But youth is war,

and adulthood is freedom in a prison yard.

The spoils of war are never equal

to the blow of loss when you hit the wall.

Sometimes I do wonder if

I’m ever going to make it back home.

’cause I’ve come so far that I feel so lost and alone.

And if life is a journey,

I think I need my tour guide right now.

Because I’m losing myself,

trying to find the me I’m supposed to be.

 

Read more poems by the same writer.

 

About Author:
Wilfred Yeminifie Deigh hails from Okpoama in Brass LGA of Bayelsa. He hold a bachelor’s degree in Petroleum Engineering from Niger Delta University and loves writing about love, society, life and host of other things.

 

Photo Credit: Ammazulu

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