The death of a conscience birthed this gory scene,
So hellish brutality, our eyes have never seen.
Worse than a lion’s tear, or the fierceness of war;
The murder of a youthful innocent four!
Untapped palms filled with jolly-sweet wine,
Hacked down untimely by this wild breed of men;
Mid-scores and a Teen, a-fire at a people’s glee,
If these are humans, I don’t know, tell me.
Mother, at home, hoping on an only son,
Father, at work, his son to school have gone,
Son, in school, a bright tomorrow does see;
None ever dreamed that this will come to be!
Savages of a people, beasts of a clan,
Their humans all away, the land is turned a den!
Callous wolves- In that crowd I find no human-
But saber-toothed creatures, garmented as men,
Their victims, knifed and stripped, called for mercy,
But their hearts shod with brass, would grant no mercy!
Is this story true, that be riddled with woe,
Or is it another grim tale by an Allan Poe?
“Thieves, robbers!” they cried to their ‘Pilate’,
He, an unjust judge, would not displease these irate.
Kill, kill, he cruelly did endorse,
Hearts crammed with evil, they sought to do worse.
I see a woman in that crowd, a babe in her hand,
Her heart is void of mercy-murder is her brand.
In cruelty she cried, “Kill am, dat one never die!”
Her heart is black with soot, if you ask me why.
Four handsomes ablaze; I see smiles on every cheek.
The smoke ascends to heaven with most choking reek,
Their blood gulped by that soil, as they die in pain,
Cursed is that land, with the woes of Cain!
In that crowd, I still sought to see a human-
I find none, save those blazing in flames!
Where are they gone, the humans of that clan?
For beasts I see, that bear human names…!
meet the poet: Arc Ani Onyedikachi Michael Jr.