Details |
Christiana Cole Poem
Things has change,
Our world is coming to an end.
On our destiny,
The wicked now sit.
An our hope is gone.
Our laughter, has been wiped
Away by our sorrows,
And we fear for our own shadows.
Upon our land,
Bloods are shed.
On our land the innocent crouch
Their tooth with pain for revenge.
Whiles we moan our dead,
Our food and drinks are taken
And our daughters in which
The pride of our nation are
Restored on are sexually used by them
In the name of celebrating our defeated.
we pray, cry, whiles they laugh
And mock us not noticing,
That our is hearing us.
Our men has been killed,
And we fear for what will happen tomorrow
Our heart are heavy,
And we are restless.
We see but now blind
For the tears of pain has make us blind
We are helpless,
And we need help.
We are weak
And we need strength.
Copyright © Christiana Cole | Year Posted 2012
|
Details |
Christiana Cole Poem
I know an old Town.
Older than the River Nile,
Romantic like Rome,
Undeafetable like Israel ,
Fearless likr a Lioness,
Rubust than a cotton tree,
Enormous than an ocean,
I know that Town that i am talking about
That has no Culture or tradition,
Which enable them to be free-minded people.
I know that Town,
That people don't shed tears.
Sojust imaging how that Town will
Look like in your imagination.
Copyright © Christiana Cole | Year Posted 2012
|