Light Obi Poet Free verse

When Our Stories Shall Be Told

When 
our 
stories 
shall 
be 
told 
and 
our 
chronicles 
opened:sad 
empty 
tales. 
Who 
will 
not 
spit 
and 
denounce 
such 
shameful 
tales?, 
what 
eye 
shall 
prode 
on 
it 
without 
reeling 
a 
curse.                
An 
era 
that 
polished 
their 
gourds 
with 
the 
blood 
of 
their 
dead 
and 
in 
it 
intered 
their 
natal 
milk. 
What 
eye 
shall 
view 
such 
shame? 
What 
tongue 
shall 
tell 
such 
tales?
Such 
stories...such 
history,let 
it 
forge 
a 
pole 
star,to 
draw 
our 
feet 
lest 
we 
stumble 
again,or 
our 
children 
consider 
an 
ominious 
alternative 
as 
we 
did.
Promising 
though 
it 
sounds;beguilling 
in 
fact 
that 
history 
teaches 
us 
nothing,than 
the 
nostalgic 
euphoria 
of 
once 
upon 
a 
time. 
It 
grinds 
frenzied 
chronicles 
into 
an 
inert 
dust 
of 
mere 
reminiscence 
and 
few 
leave 
the 
detritus 
unaltered.
Even 
the 
remains,though 
authentic 
or 
hoax,complete 
or 
distorted 
kicks 
us 
in 
the 
face 
and 
we 
ferry 
them 
like 
gatekeepers 
across 
the 
river 
of 
greed 
as 
a 
frivolous 
otiose 
hanging 
painfully 
on 
our 
neck.
So 
when 
our 
stories 
shall 
be 
told,either 
by 
groits 
or 
paid 
minstrels;of 
our 
self 
inflicted 
doom. 
What 
ear 
shall 
hear 
such 
tales:sad 
tragic 
stories 
and 
not 
laugh 
mournfully.

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