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Ill
winds blow over the seas,
Moaning
as it drives the breakers like a plaintive mother.
The lung
of the land is chockfull with seeds.
Still, sterility
devastates like a trench mortar.
Like a
ruthless feeling disease
Corruption
plagues the souls of men.
All we
like sheep rid of their fleece
Rush over
the cliff and some meet their end.
People is
trapped in the game
And they’re
barely surviving
The tempting
of the pain
And the
intruding of vices.
Paradise
is unattainable
And the
brimstone is highly available.
We’re
virtually waist-deep in it
It’s
like an open sesame into ill.
Nobody finds
peace in the oracle;
We are
the mutual subjects of ridicule.
Tears from
a baby’s eyes
Speaks a
tome about the no-good years.
The land
sighs
But the
spear point is clear.
Within the
bedlam an illusion emerges,
A smile
is an adeptly concealed grimace
In the
release of repercussive allergies.
How long
before we all pine away?
The torture
is excessive you can’t stick out under.
Yet,
there remains this pervasive emotional trauma
Clogging
up the recuperation gear.
This is
no easy route we travel
Even though
the path we tread was assigned from the navel.
We seem
to seek a bleak respite
Awaiting
hope with a fearful expectation, in spite.
Our tomorrows
is dead and buried
In the
same coffin with all our hopes and dreams.
Deep
sixed in a yawning abyss.
Darkness
hides the horizon,
Deep darkness
the coming of dawn.
What is
enough?
Could this
distress not account for too much?
Life stings
with a venom.
Has the
resolution being torn out the book?
I feel
my soul wrenched by sadness attack
Hankering
to be let off the hook.
Anguish
stalks in to plunder on contract
Too weakened
to fight back
We dread
the hard impact.
Akpan
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