Sickened Pride
The country is painted red
By the hand that seals our fate
The pain requires of a poet a sad poem
The hope of the supplicants
Is sickened by the festering ulcer of infamy
The absence of civility
Nourishes the greed
That thins our pride
Our lungs are spent
From straining to be heard
Above the loud crack of the whip
But-
As sure as day follows night;
The steaming venom of bitterness-
Will Intoxicate our conscience
And will stir the rage of the Beast
Hiding in our chest!
Copyright © Joseph Kimbugwe | Year Posted 2017
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