Lost in the labyrinths of paths,
Coming from supernatural vaults,
Ripe for banishment from the
Company of cherubs, with my
Inchoate mind, enthralled by
The groove of beats bursting
Forth from goat skin drums,
Rapturous festive moments
On sturdy beasts: sonorous,
Exotic, mellifluous voices in
Hamlets flanked by crops and
Fibers and tendrils of creepers,
With sylvan coverage intercepting
Cumulus' view from the god's
Swollen foot, fraternal and intestinal
Wars result in impunious sniffing
Of life and shedding blood, through
Footpaths and ruffled herbal
Flora cottoned by constant trips.
Opposed by string percussions,
Artificial and simulated enjoyments,
In towers of babel and gray roads,
Festooned with roses and hydrangea,
With men in black uniforms, walking
Endlessly in chilly weather.
Without an afterthought, I went
For the former, and I hope I will
Not be a sacrificial lamb, unfortunately,
I chose wrongly.
Justice for Uwaila.
YOU ARE READING
MIDNIGHT SUN
PoesíaToday, we ought to wear our gauntlets, Put on our amour and canvass grits, Forward! Though our sword are skillets, We win even though we lost by bits.
