Worship is in a sea of destruction
Being torn apart by most of their sailors’ deceptions
Shot by sins which once sat
In front of their potent rifles
Their congregants scattering
For fear of lions of confusions
And bugs of distrust
II
It seems those days are cutting their rope ties
From the chariot of religion
Passions of sluggishness growing with every blast of greed
Temples are fast turning into market places
Many places of worship are now like brothels
Sacred places now act as chaotic as a gambling spot
There are temples of demeaning courts
Severing umbilical cords of the surrendered
From mythical existences
Who planted the moths in this living created?
III
Far eyes see a day
When Christ will turn myth unrecognised
When other prophets will turn stories in mock laughter
When science will take over heads and hearts and highs in every realm
I may be the sand under unknown feet
One thing is clear
These words, born on an easing pot
Will sound loudly in the echoes of my voice
In this worldly cave
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © October 27, 2017
Mum Cee 