I woke up this morning feeling so heavy
Like a warship coming with a thousand navy
I heard the sound of a flying black raven
I felt the sunlight shinning on me from heaven.
I watched the wall clock tick
My eyes so fix, I don’t want to blink.
I stood to realize am so weak
My feet can’t move my mouth won’t speak.
I knew it deep inside that am not sick
I felt a rush over me like a freak
I smiled as I held on to my fist
It’s again that period of the week.
I’m on my period, am not ashamed to speak
Even though it rains with a red beat
And it drains like a lemon squeezed
It comes from me naturally
And end up in me emotionally.
Like a red wine so sweet to savor
So my period comes with good flavor
It’s the best time I have to myself
It’s the time I make use of the books on my shelf
It’s the time my muse comes to help
And my eyes always turn to red.
It’s the time to show my prowess
The time to use my pad.
All I need is a pad and a pen
It’s another period to write a poem.
A period to talk about the blood
The blood that rush and gush
The blood that gush to wash
No one could have loved me this much.
A wondrous beauty I see
What a wonderful world it would be.
Stained with blood so divine
Was an old cross that took the sin of mine
An emblem of sin and shame
For me the Lamb of God bear it all on Calvary aim
To bring me back to glory
My shame & reproach he gladly bears
He suffered and died, not just a story
He resurrected for me to be there.
So will I cherish and cling to the cross on my kneels down
Knowing I will exchange it someday for a glorious crown.
That I may know him and the power of his resurrection
And the fellowship of his suffering
Being made conformable unto his death.
Cos without the cross, there is no blood
Without the blood, there will be no death
Without death, there will be no resurrection
Without resurrection there will be no me
And without me, there will be no such period.
A period to use my pad,
A period to use my pen,
A period to write a poem.
© Yommy Bishop…
