Indictment
from the poetry of sand,
to the novels of clay,
a behemoth sleeps, constructed
by bricks,
the souls of many are locked
in there,
you can hear them moan
or cry
about the agony
of their futile convictions
Iron bars of righteous esteem,
radiate memories
of the killings and the murders
and the robberies,
then suddenly, they forgo sordid ignorance,
the theft of the mind,
they're at home,
yet convicts of their wrong doing
Now, their vicions are tainted
with blood,
and their peace has been
stolen by their own cruel actions,
rattled conscience!
their sins ressurrect as ghouls
to hover over them
and their future,
they shall know no rest
till the truth has been spoken.
By Kakraba Afful
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