Joel Audu
This able
The streets idle
With time disable
Unable to be stable
Travail in the trivial,
To no avail
Lurk in lack
In wait for luck
Under thatched tent
Patched for perch
Life’s morbid ness spent
From sordidness bench
Spread their stench
Uninformed deformed
In bloody uniform adorned
Now to violence conformed
Can reform ever find
This kind of mind?
Your young long wrung
From the system’s lounge
A system stemming
From bloody rackets
Brooding brackets
Breeding plenty caskets
In the street’s creeks
That always bleeds
For pointless reasons
Now without ceasing
Every season.