I wrote abomination!
I wrote a poem.
It would never be read.
It is made of paganism
and plastic darkened world of lament.
It is a poem of curled broken lines.
The church would ridicule it!
The mosque would fight me on… The saint would laugh it over.
No publishing house would dare it horns on.
For it contains lies,
it contains damming statements that collides
and erodes the many errors
that humanity have been made
to swallow and overbloat.
It would mock and rebuke the living.
It shall praise the dead.
It shall frown on life
like a forensic tonic.
It shall admonish death
like the first suckle of a baby
from penetrating breasts.
I know what sentences awaits me in the holographic holocaust of society. But in all, like a slave of this empty life, I don’t care, it won’t matter to me. For I know, not everyone is a student of Shakespearean nonsense or the Awoonor crying errors.