| |
THE DYING ATHOUR
Just this morning, my pen pile
And drifted into slumber
I saw shadows and shame
And,
Babies in the pool of tears
As,
Anarchy crawled in the wombs of his gun
Blood stooped and stumbled
In between his skull
Conscripting his pen of puns
Thus,
Lowering his dust and shadow
To father-earth
In the agony of eternal adventure
His bones wept
Just this morning the author died.
Awoh Kingsley Awoh
September 8th 2012
|