I have a hard time expressing my angst,
For bitter tastes are honey laced.
But let me attend to being succinct,
We aren’t in Denmark, yet something doth stink.
As we shoot arrows at their tanks…
To those in total power you are just a flower,
Work for them every waking hour
While in the night your thoughts do sour
And they use you up until completely devoured.
A flower so vibrant as it graces the sun,
Ready and open, capable of collecting rays of light
Amidst a rainforest of plenty,
Fully satisfied and satisfying, a harmony-
The bride wears her ring:
Then greed comes raping her abundant songs,
And wears them as regalia wrapped in a sarong.
As a flower you shine sweet, but taste of dung,
Upon their lies of servitude, also swung.
Appointed by others, so many lost seeds,
Warfare of power destroys our needs;
Entirely entitled the spirit begs,
But flesh believes in false deeds
And too many have lost their way their knees.
You be their power base,
While they rub shit in your face.
You spend your time in slavery of pride and greed,
Sell your soul, your lot and seed.
Without the foundation the house fell,
Everything rotten, can’t you smell?
I’ll meet you in heaven or maybe hell,
However, not before a single thought compelled:
Who is the flower?
Which is the seed?
One will plant and another devour.
Do they both not meet our needs?
Written by: Marshall G. Kent Sr.
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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