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Be not dismayed, my beloved
At the flaming fire of my words
Void of beauty’s imaging peace.
Be not dismayed if I’ve changed
The gentle flow of streaming truth
With its sometimes volcanic blast;
The purple rain of my rhythmic voice
May not know the coming tomorrow
For the devil’s son takes no prisoners.
Remember, entertainment is one thing
But uttering the truth of time is just that—
We need to know and be aware of the times;
The time is and the times are as is.
Social distancing is not something new;
Remember white and black water?
I know not what tomorrow may bring
But there are some things I must say
That this you may know here and now;
The faecal mouth skunk stands
In podium stance, pontificating
A sewage flow of diarrheic lexicon;
A sewage flow of diarrheic lexicon
Diluting the seriousness of Covid-19
With this latest new term: “Covid-like”.
Let not our hearts of flowered faith
And our petal sweet bouquet of hope,
Be deceived by bitter skunked deceit;
BREATHE…my fellow village bards,
I would never leave you hanging…No!
Thus, is the breath I keep breathing:
We are the heirs of ancestors’ centuries
of struggle
And their breath breathes upon us, their
strength;
Let us inhale the fresh healing of our present
trouble
With the perseverance their tomorrows have
now sent.
