FICKLE MARTYRDOM

They brought me into a den

Into a den of non-determinators

I,

Who have the heart of a martyr,

Was brought into a bunch of give-uppers

And they tap into my ocean of determination

Every freaking hour of everyday.

They cause me to

Stop,

Refill,

Move,

Stop,

Refill,

Move

And stop

Hampering my progress.

When will I reach the land of success?

When? When these weaklings form part of my heavy load?

The neck of my force is collapsing

And the back of my success is breaking.

Hope there exist a machete

Worthy of cutting these ties

Without seeing bleeding hearts

Wish there exist a shovel

Capable of burying these loads

Without seizing their breathes

My realization is what I do not want to bear;

My heavy shit of loads form part of me.

  Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.