Amidst our thole, our throbbing hymns tuned,
clamorous yet shushed by their lugholes
Of all the Berceuse we had once s'ng
Ti's the most, is all dismal
On landing, the first note
to the black-hearted Partisans
forged in Trammels, gripped not to fall betwixt
penury and humdrum
The second note,
from it, clasp'd a Riddling Reposte of Remedy
to an ailing authority, to the fiend of friends
who hath sent myriads to Belize
My last note,
is a drafted one
let it not be affixed as a trinity
,,,,,,, drench me in peril
Our Pleas Are Lullabies
Aramide Opeolu
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 12/30/2022
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Poem topics: trinity, black, authority, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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