Voice Of My Ancestors

Lay titting tatting
tutting still turning
worn out waiting
for the hear,
but father remarked
on his death bed
for a distinct voice.


Remember the world
is corruption son,
Forget your newspaper
headlines;
The changes that count
are happening already:
Unnoticed, unannounced
underground.


Careful with your fingers
not to deep them into
a write for heresy;
You know not who
is the read.
It may crook your paths
dim your light
twist your stomach
and pudge your name.


Look out son!
Listen to lingua Franca
Between gods and men:
Doubt truth to be lie,
never doubt our words;
On the dim and far-off
Shore of the future,
you will see the footprints
of hope and peace
at the tunnel.


©Steve Anc
Lover of words
02/05/2020
All rights reserved

Steve Anc
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 05/03/2020 The copyright of the poems published here are belong to their poets. Internetpoem.com is a non-profit poetry portal. All information in here has been published only for educational and informational purposes.