© Akinwale Peace
They are dead.
They that reside in the soil
and their breathe smells as mans' toil;
They that stood tall as a slant short pole
and welcome heads as they bow their whole.
They that feed on palm oil as stew
and sucked blood as food in their view.
They that feed heads as their meats
and the world bow at their feet.
They that stood tall and feared no war
They that are dead but live at war,
They that live six feet and still breath
They that are unknown but known in death.
Stop all these superstition!
I hate the real illusion!
The gods are dead, our blood has killed their lives!
The gods are dead, their tale only survives.
"words from the innocent mind"
Philip Peace
© Great Intellects'
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