O you who run on this soi-disant terrace!
Laced for show that feigned rectitude
O you who lodge in anaemic palace!
And swelling in a dwindling altitude
You revel in the acts that the world detests
And breed terror in the east and west
The laity, you cross and molest
Their blood will cost you unrest rest
You nastiest in the Zion race
You devil, you monster, you rude
You fluster and roil the earth surface
And stir and spawn inhumane crude
You placed turmoil in the place that rests
You smash, abuse and still arrest
The evil you sowed you sure will harvest
And your heirs will bear the rest unrest
O you who own the distant place!
And suffering by acts of turpitude
We feel the fiasco that you face
And beseech that the God intrude
But let belief abound in your breasts
And prepare and await the best
To our tack at length, the conquest
And repose that sates our chest
O world! Pray to help the oppressed
And for Muslims that are yet distressed
To the God to save and assist
And be rid of abuse of the Far-West
Bayonet Of Pain
Kehinde Bashir Akinola
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 10/20/2019
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Poem topics: evil, feel, pray, monster, earth, face, chest, surface, devil, belief, save, crude, prepare, conquest, god, world, place, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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