Chinwe Azubuike 3
Forsake not O Lord
Forsake not I implore
For your servant, the gifted with the pen,
Has gone gaga I fear.
For fear of failing in duties he decided to carry out justice
And slay that precious gift you gave him…Life!
He lamented gibberishly and bemoaned his fate
As if in a trance, to all and yet none
In secret he was beseeched and dampened with tears
By the fair daughter of Eve
But on a heart stone cold her pleas were shattered.
In the open he was implored
By she and the world that cared
But this time, it brewed a storm
Trashing and opposing like a wild beast,
He poured out his misery in torrents
Minding not whatever blocked his path.
And for fear of aborting his plans, threatened a duel.
Not even a thousand army could pin him down.
And like one being chased by hounds of hell,
Bolted from the clutches of intruders into darkness
That fateful Thursday
A lapse in time…
Disaster…Rearing its head.
Fear of the unknown, reaching a crescendo!
Until the descent of Eve herself to appeal and appease
Proved magic to pacify his rage and quieten the storm.
Yet the day is gone and tomorrow knows not its harvest.
So goes the fate of our beloved,
A victim of fear.
Forsake not O Lord,
Forsake him not I implore.
The gifted one with the pen.