A Cry For These Haunted Ones

Earth wonder’s beneath the night sky.
An exegesis she succumbs to
Cracks the shell of her conscience.

There is a whirling of inchoate obsessions
At earth’s loss; distraught
Without reason,
Shriveling the womb of human enterprise.

Cold night, alone;
In this silence the best noise is heard.
Before I wept.

Vermin at arm’s length nowadays
Cast a shadow of faceless hands, outstretched
To redeem their lust offering.
Unsexed and drenched in the heat of retribution,
The gunmen now bare their fangs at every corner.

I trust that this stillbirth of eternal human lesson
Keeps a contrary pace with the wisdom of the Ancient of Days.
Thus provoked, flesh hunger for more flesh
With very little time to spare;
Thus, confining the fat breasted Love in little cans of unwisdom…

And a host of other things
Including my uniformed friends
With a history of training sessions;
Has wanton corruption brought more guns to bear
On the humble bus driver?

As we continue to refuse by choice
To be what we all ought to be,
Truth is served on a plate of strong iron
Then that mouth-watering diet of lies in elegant casserole.

…The devouring flesh of a wanton polity
Deliberately feeds on the latter, nourishing their pride
As they are rocked to sleep in Ekwensu’s chair…

Death begets a quiver full of deaths
In dearth of the great Spirit;
Who dares propel His earthen vessels toward life’s purpose?

Necessity invents that we must hunger
In one accord for that light which shines
(With healing in its rays),
The most in these dark and darker times.

©Uche (2008)