He gathers syllables of shattered glass,From wreckage of the ancient, golden towers,While silent, specter-freighted eons pass,Between the ticking of the phantom hours.A synecdoche of starlight in his palm,A plethora of phonemes, bright and bold,To break the heavy, horizontal calm,With stories that the ancients never told.The evanescent whispers of the wind,Are woven into tapestries of light,Where every sinewy sentence is entwined,To pierce the belly of the endless night.With sesquipedalian majesty he speaks,And climbs the highest of the verbal peaks.
MICRO FINANCE unknown to many is the sole panacea to mass poverty eradication in human society.The blog specifically focuses on the industry around the world but with more bias on Africa-unarguably the poorest region of the world.
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