Dike Dyke Williams


We walked the sun-baked
road with creams of clay
on our feet, drank ghetto soups,
and concluded leftovers from
previous nights…
We hoped for the coming crumbs,
while the stars called us look up
at nights, there, we dreamt to fly….

At dawn, with fashion from
rat-made clothes, and the
smell of leftovers from
stupor neighbors,
wheeled us to hope, as we
pleaded for crumbs and brunch…
We kept all alive, because at dawn,
we must fly….

The dark life we lived,
with the sun up with
business, and the new places
to smell for hope, grew with
us too much from the journey.
Though sorrow spread nets to
drag behind, we dreamt still
how to fly….

The cages we made home,
and the prisons that took
the soul, killed like the caged
We presented flashy fashion
before world’s front, but the
rags tattered in the soul!
The bars walked with us
every life; only God to look…
Imprisoned we were, to fly….

The robbery of plenty wealth,
and death of the starters with
us, that left for dust, pushes forward…
The treasury treasures no more,
and we have learnt to dig tomorrow
alone, we must look up to fly….

Wailing of the suffering
ghettos, that place of workshop
to fly; the skeletons of babies
living, and the eyes of their
mothers from cry, tell stretched story…
But if the skeletons survive,
hope says the children too,
will learn to fly….

The hustling of sincerity,
the patience with grace
to fly; the long road from
pain-infested hills, are
foreshadowed things for tomorrow…
The dreams we touched
the sky relieves us, and
the picture from God
says we will meet the sky,
and we will fly….

The garden of grace make
us dream no more, we reached
the place where creams of clay
from soiled legs forget behind,
and dreams hatched remaining
not like choked chick in shell…
Here, we take that one step
from God’s bell, and hang
the world behind, to see,
that we have been relieved
from the world to fly….



Rush of colors,
divert of the brush
instead to paint,
Angelo fights the
the burning beg
of gifts, which now
to work?
large talent war
the battle to win
on the big land of

Another color, immortal for
the eternal Christ…
Sung on Handel’s
notes: mysterious Hallelujah
chorus, tearing the long gone
soul into Hallelujah bliss!
He sang, Angelo
painted, as Angels dictate
which tone best
broke the messiah’s heart!

The pi eta tore my devotion
to shreds, as the mother
looked the body-torn
son, and what God
in mystery notes sang
through the apocalypse,
what life to awake mankind
from eternity’s death-waste.

was Archangel writing genius-scroll
in your christening?
What gift so ocean,
that the waves meet towards
this age…
And time messaged time
what name we hear, and the
stages of the later times still
in grace’s womb!

Did the Almighty
create anew on
eight day?
He cannot break
like human’s frailty.
Then, how was
your brain forged?
Which fires pound
your sinews?
Questions will
birth questions,
but the Almighty
nest answers in
eternity’s space
where time cannot
protect, only the life on the Arts
tell the big book….



How souls go home through
horizon’s door, earthquakes the ears.
The doors of the soul are opened, and
dust stay to remind those souls we loved.

How souls return home make silent
the world, like the cockerel with no
alarms for the morning.
The bereft cleanses the ashes on the heart,
with the whisper: never to touch that gone
soul again!

We watch the boulevard of silence,
as the gone souls are returned before
the faces of the mind, and on the heart
buried they first, before the earth
take her own!

How souls go home, with that
flash that cuts more, makes the heart
trek to heaven with questions so million…
But despite how death sleeps those souls eternal,
we keep their lives waking every morning
on the love that never buries; death is eaten
when we fly….


Dike Dyke Williams was born in Lagos, Nigeria. He is a Poet and writer of short stories, reviews, and novels. To the glory of God alone, he is a recipient of creative writing awards in poetry, prose, and drama. His poems appear on the World Peace Healing Poetry anthology, the Society of Young Nigerian Writers’ poetry collection, and the UK poetry library. He is also a gospel songwriter.


About Copperfield

Since 2000, The Copperfield Review has been a leading market for short historical fiction. Copperfield was named one of the top sites for new writers by Writer's Digest and it is the winner of the Books and Authors Award for Literary Excellence. We publish short historical fiction as well as history-based nonfiction, poetry, reviews, and interviews.
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