Johnpaul Okwudili
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POET
Stories (211)
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Virtue's Path.
In the beginning, there was a whisper, A soft call that stirred the soul, Echoing through the chambers of the heart, A call to walk the path less traveled, The path of virtue, Where shadows and light intertwine, Where the footsteps are hesitant, Yet unwavering in their resolve.
By Johnpaul Okwudili about a year ago in Poets
Might and Mercy.
In the beginning, there was a murmur, A quiet stirring in the depths of the soul, A whisper of a dream, a call to balance, To find the harmony between might and mercy, To walk the fine line where power and compassion meet, To wield strength with grace, to hold authority with tenderness, To be a force of justice and a vessel of kindness.
By Johnpaul Okwudili about a year ago in Poets
Tyrant's Throne.
In the shadowed corners of history, There lies the tale of the tyrant’s throne, A seat of power, cold and unyielding, Forged in the fires of ambition and greed, Its rise marked by the echoes of conquest, Its fall by the whispers of rebellion.
By Johnpaul Okwudili about a year ago in Poets
Whispers of Despair.
In the stillness of the night, where the world holds its breath and the silence stretches long and heavy, there are whispers, soft and insistent, echoes of despair that drift through the shadows, carrying with them the weight of unspoken sorrows.
By Johnpaul Okwudili about a year ago in Poets
Gilded Chains.
In the opulence of the grand halls, where the chandeliers cast their golden glow and the silken drapes whisper of wealth, there are chains, gilded and shining, wrapped around the hearts of those who dwell in the realms of excess, their shimmer masking the weight of greed’s relentless embrace.
By Johnpaul Okwudili about a year ago in Poets
Ephemeral Moments.
In the quiet dawn, as the first light paints the sky with shades of gold and pink, there is a hush, a stillness, a reminder of the fleeting nature of our existence. Each moment, a breath, a heartbeat, a whisper in the vast expanse of time, beautiful and transient, like the morning dew that glistens on the petals of a rose, only to vanish with the rising sun.
By Johnpaul Okwudili about a year ago in Poets
Veil of Deceit.
In the halls of power, behind the polished doors, where the scent of polished wood and ambition mingles, there lies a veil, a gossamer thin yet impenetrable cloak of deceit. It shimmers in the artificial light, hiding the rot, the decay, the poisonous tendrils of corruption that weave through the fabric of society, a silent, deadly vine.
By Johnpaul Okwudili about a year ago in Poets
Avarice's Shadow.
In the shimmering towers of glass and steel, where sunlight glints off every surface, casting rainbows through prisms of human ambition, there lurks a shadow, deep and insidious. It moves silently, a serpent through tall grass, coiling around hearts, whispering promises of more, always more.
By Johnpaul Okwudili about a year ago in Poets
Echoes of the Forgotten
In the quiet, in the stillness of night, when the world is asleep and the stars hold their breath, there are whispers, faint and distant, like the rustle of leaves in an autumn breeze. These are the echoes of the forgotten, souls who once lived, loved, dreamed, now shadows in the fabric of time, their stories fading, their voices dimming.
By Johnpaul Okwudili about a year ago in Poets
