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To My Man

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Below is the poem entitled To My Man which was written by poet Afolabi Taiwo. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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To My Man

  My man from youth grew
  Your life was full of superiority;
  You dazzled and demarcated, 
  Who does not belong must be sacrifice,
  And laughter were the mystery of your horror tales,
  To all animals not wild should cut their tails,
  Freudian legacy that governed the tribe of the bookish
  And trickles down to wild youths,
  The Mafioso cum in our midst
  As he found landlocked in:
  This is a, that is b and those c, d, and e,
  Alphabetically symbolize the allies
  Who seemed not to care;
  We washed different hoe-hands
  Together into the same potluck,
  But I decided to follow the king;
  It is an experience, whatsoever or whatever,
  Expressed what I looked for,
  And clapped a song: immortal invincible God only wise,

  In the conclusion of the matter
  All that needed done was half done,
  And tomorrow packed belongs and begone,
  Gone on mission and came back with some spoilt,
  The pathetic sweet–hearts you hate to remember
  The one there and here and lived with in ransom,
  And terribly pity, the one discarded, multi-distressing,
   With all diseases in her mouth and in belly,
  The executioners used darkness to mask
  And covered up in shielded shadows, 
  With weapons drawn and the meat
  Surefooted walked into the trap,
  The in humans unleashed the superiority tussles:
  A dagger slit esophagus,
  Knife carved out eyelids
  Axes butchered wrists,
  Cutlasses designed gothic gashed all over;
  Sliding and growling the pain shoot in his vein,
  And tore through him the devastated dream,
  Soon it was time to go as he lay 
  And the juice poured out of the vessel in torrents,
  To perish, eyes and mouth agape,  surprised;
  To the moon looking down terrifying,
 O! God we lack and want,
 O! God provide us our daily bread,
  O! God we are crying for injustice,
  Mother cried of crushing, crashing heartbreak for
  The lamentation of her killed beloved:  'Jealousy inflamed  brawled'
 Poor mama, she has not been there
  Even when she went there,
  In agony, sorrow and deep mourning, merely comforted;
  But, Eman story had been contorted.

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