Native Broomsticks Constanza

Written by: lucky okoedion

                    On brown native broomsticks I stood
                    to make my sweeper-dreams come true
                   thing-and-being's smooth flow blazing through
                    
                   I the sweeper of killer-moods
                   undaunted by evil's mirage wins,
                   I breeze-and-friction-created means.

                   Which devour like termites in wood;
                    which work by strength of tough biceps,
                   and here-and-there elbow and wrist steps.

                   An arm I am which created good
                   when an eye-sore provoked reflex deeds
                  at a state-collapse time as this

                   where diamond-strong evils have stood.
                   knocking down virtue and justice,
                   till arms-on-broom would seize office
                    
                    Yet in glory, brooms are not viewed.
                   They are only used and just dumped
                    or abandoned like a tree stump

                                       *
                     On brown native broomsticks I stood
                     I the sweeper of killer-moods
                    which devour like termites in wood;
                    An arm I am which created good
                   where diamond-strong evils stood.
                    Yet in glory, brooms are not viewed.