I hear the Call of the Trumpet..
In my waking thoughts.. a music
that draws me in.. soaking me in its fiery embrace
like liquid magma, I drown in the hotness
I fear for my kin, my kind, my race
my generation, our disdain for truth and sanctity we abuse,
not ready to bow to GOD, and follow sanity
Death knells sounds near; a song, in its wake.
liquid voices, running rhythms, flowing chants
from the embryo, a locking of glances - look askance, the eyes stare
in red-hot moon and cold-bluish sun, imagery meets realism
and fact undresses truth.
Copyright © Osayande Osaghae | Year Posted 2017