I have a dream, and in that dream,
Apocalypse made reverse flip
She flooded streets, with a reset,
Giving them back all in their bank
Accordingly, appropriately
Cutting sockets, kicking buckets
Lots of bodies, foes and Buddies,
Were stacked like logs, and scared of bugs…
“Dirt kills not an Africa man”
Oh sorry, not those type of men
Who corruption has eaten deep
Beyond depths meant for sinking ship
Now, the center hold not anymore
Beans are empty in cooking pot
And our Hopes are dead in weevils
I heard someone casting Devils
All blames they pushed but he stayed put
In hell, watching landing birds pooh
He had no hand, sins of our land
Exhumed from sands from end to end
Wedges were down and mere touchdown
For personal gain, and golden crowns
Then borders crossed, the virus tossed
Dirt we overpowered, now kills us
We fight world war three, without arms
Which all began from the pigs farm
And self enrich but now they itch
Even as they could turn to fish
With ten fins and bladders to swim
The tears that rain pours out cruel pain
Coming from drugs and outside laws;
Stay far apart; stay sanitized
More than a gun headshot begun
Aiming at rich lessons it teach…
I have a dream, and in that dream,
Apocalypse, had many flips.
e-Paper Poetry of Vinx 