The Question Marks Book Spa Otatade Okojie

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In the cool steel of the night it wakes me up, thoughts unwinding like dancing visions before me,i see it stretched out like a canvas, a show piece of visions, future, potential. My hands itch to do the work. Words which i once said to challenge fear, challenge me. They are lodged in the back of my throat, some underneath my tongue, and my eyes are dark with longing. I have seen this vision many times before, a girl with a dream, with hope that fluttered deep in the bosom of a heart that beat like an african drum. Sweat clings to my skin, its liquid laminating my pert features, as i reach for my pen, i feel it now, the thud, the claw, the whispers of fear. Drawing close attempting to suck me in. Do i leave my dream to be unfulfilled, when my fingers twitch and ache, when new words are desperate to be born from their prison, do i sing it a lullabye and allow it to be lulled to sleep by envious fears, and spirit dancers with spears, no i must fight, for in the wake of this dream, something omnipotent is here.