Gods of the street
I hear the cries from twisted lips
Drifting through the path of haunted dreams
These alarms of thoughts weaving through
The carvings of dented ribs
These little beings cloth in clouded shadows of poverty
Marching round the circus of crowded streets
With arms stretched, eager for the crumbs laid at waste bins

I weep for the tears dried, caked on their eyelids
And the unspoken words that grace their sealed lips
I weep for they, little beings of Adam's seed
Live for each day, the dreams far from their reach

If the spell of faint whispers give but little joy
If the scar of eden still lingers at their door
Whistling the tune of betrayal and man's fall
If these erected pillars of glued bones
Live by day to see the moon glow
Then, to him who sit on the celestial throne
I plead that time paves the way for happiness
And sets a lid on their shouts of distress

Image credits: He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother -  The Hollies - Wikipedia via Google image

Copyright (c) 2015, Opetu Ebibote
for MuseSpill | www.musespill.com.ng | instagram.com/musespill | twitter.com/muse_spill

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