This is the last part of this write. I look forward to your comments and rating on this. Thanks
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Only this dirge of mourning.
We can now recount it said of old,
We can recollect,
We can recall
We can figure it out now so clearly
It was told to us
That the blessedness of waywardness is disaster
We can see through the shadows
The handwriting on the wall
And it is judgment
Like a make-believe, but reality
Here we are…
The price is now high
The demand so, excruciating.
No turning now
No going back.
In the days of moral wanting
The times of Spirit yearning
The days our hearts detested the Word
It was then we prepared this bed of slavery
We worked at it with all earnestness
Then;
It was crime,
To stop ‘n listen to the Prophets
A waste of time,
To consider the sayings of wise men
Ignoble to hear a rhetoric masterpiece of the ‘they-think-they-know’
But now,
Sense has come to our senses
Lessons have so filled our once callous hearts.
We are reduced to rags
No good in us
No good in our good-for-nothing cravings
We are dethroned by mere circumstances forcefully
We are enslaved by our once darling thoughts
Dearest of all,
Favorable of all dreams
The ones so cherished,
Most coveted,
Most adored,
Most worshiped..
Is the same price that has traded us.
‘How can we sing the songs,
These sacred notes,
The songs of Zion in a strange Land?’
Captivity is not captivating.
