Death Why Dost Thou Kill The Youngst? Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis


The grey are borersA
Who suck the life remnantB
Of the youngst and watchC
Them clash cycles on the highwaysA
And gaze at them in long woodsA
Laid upon shoulders to where theyD
Are matched beyond with onlyE
One possession of the worldF
The gray who sit on cloth sacksA
Trampling the world on three legsA
Who match with our handsA
Entwined into their rusky bonyE
Sides of no earthly fleshG
Who lie on strong beds awaitingH
Our most pampering careI
That suck many a number to depressionJ
Why dosth thou the gray not bow to earthK
If you have not paid deathL
Your good friend with our livesA
When you have feasted himM
On the dinning tableN
Where you spill our bloodO
To dwell gain in hundred foldsA
And the youngst in twentiesA
When hath the death who hathP
All year long lurked in woodsA
Disembodied ever full of fleshG
When you with no heart onQ
Would still boldly take mineR
And leave agots uponQ
A feast upon the body after whichS
They still partake of its gloryE
Death why dosth thou kill the youngstO
If you have not accepted the tokenJ
From our gray who dined youT
On our toils and fed you on ourU
Flesh and bath you in our bloodO
And lay you upon our hearts ofV
Tremendous facilitationJ
Which our very lives dwell onQ
You hath seen the youngst in toilW
Where they suffer to gain a livingH
You had not for once helped outO
When even on sick beds stillX
They moil to survive a dayO
Through the four walls of educationJ
You had with your bold eyes seenY
But had given no helping handO
Then why do thouZ
Take them away when they triumphA2
when with their gowns overflowingH
with a cap hanging above their headO
and in rows snapshots of joyB2
when they had worked files in handO
and settled in officesA
you became a visitor on barefootO
you laid traps on highwaysA
waiting them to fall preyO
for the next feasting in the woodsA
where he shall stiff lieC2
in woods and be trodden uponQ
deep cries and wailsA
and wives on whitesA
and husbands on whitesA
and death so kind thatO
The young have grown so oldO
And the old grown so youngD2
That I myself don t know where I lieC2
Whether I grow so old or youngD2
Sure I still pay the debtO
Cause even the gray dieC2
And death takes back handO

Benjamin Chikezie
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 05/17/2019


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