Sitting lugubriously
Watching as juveniles engage in a bacchanalian orgy
She reaches deep in her passions’ cache
And finds a bottomless fleapit of madness
She dawdles, anxious at what perished within
All the pain she feels are deadened
With every step, with every thought
As she sees that old screen flecked with dust
She takes a seat in her ghostliness, tensed.
She watches as the hobgoblin her display
Iconoclastically in her yesterday,
The knowing coitus starting the scene.
With angostura quaffs pulling its strings,
The character that blurs her vision, tells all around off.
She sees the priest, she sees the elderly
She sees her mother, her hands covering her face.
She takes the most adorable heart
Crushes it without an iota of compunction
With hammered words which would rather lie asleep
And walks on without looking back
The dirt gets thinner
As the story gets to its end
Until she sees a little baby
Who looks, acts and is faultless
Which pencil writes this horribly?
Which water grows these heinous beings?
Which machines condones these obscenities?
And like a baby she weeps at her rhetorics.
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.
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