Hair gold like a lioness,
Obscure, elusive poetess.
Ducking behind syllables,
Dodging responsibility,
Painting the canvas
Like a crooked smile.
South African, Christian refugee,
Some welcome they get.
Braving all kinds of chemicals,
Just for the Hell of it:
Making her life more difficult.
Plush with anaesthesia and brutality,
Seeks sensitivity, and freedom from formality.
Fiery preacher of nativity, of an imported proclivity,
A sublime religion of sad suicidal tendency:
Undermined and ripped off by plastic medicine.
Taught to fear truth so long,
Conscience clear sings siren song.
Resilient like a phoenix,
From the ashes of last night’s self-immolation,
Two thousand years spiritual immigration.
With kindness still in her nature.
But is there still fight left in her aegis?
She’ll need it now – and for the duration. --
Quietly, we pray.
- Author: Dr.Mad (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: April 17th, 2019 14:19
- Comment from author about the poem: About a friend from South Africa, now living in Texas. Also a poet. This is my blog: https://gaslitbyamadman.home.blog/
- Category: Friendship
- Views: 14
Comments1
The rhyme scheme of this is amazing
Oh, thanks. Much appreciated.
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