The Convolution
On the eve of 25 December
We expected joy, gifts,
But rivulets of blood and tears;
Gushed over the land.
When Vodka surrogates the lamb;
All in the game are futile
The day is rendered no specialty
Given that the real day is latent
It’s vile to rule the sanctified day;
As archaic or discriminatory:
For the wicked ideology to maneuver
Derailing even the chosen
Carried away by the folklore
Working against Holy Spirit – on the day.
The carnal mind
Powered by the serpent
Implements a Law free strategy;
Where people of their own interests
Succumb to the second and final death!
Copyright © Anesto Mandizvidza | Year Posted 2022
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