Silent mind for the beast is empty,
Never found in the midst of plenty.
Never mind the coo of lame mighty,
Silent mind, a foe abreast all misty.
We say it out loud;
Ashamed yet proud,
You are good Lord.
Planting our seeds;
Lifeless tiny beads,
Watching our needs.
Growing as we must;
Shoddy as we thrust,
Studying with our lust.
We stumble all along;
With that we all belong,
Befitting our tongue.
We are like a weed;
That hurrying reed
Of silly trendy greed,
Patiently you wait;
Tolerating our sate,
As we learn of faith.
Then as so surely,
You mow us neatly,
Lay us all so sweetly.
We agree all so loud,
Embarrassed yet proud,
You are so good Lord.
My training ground
Is just beyond my brow.
There it is found
Where I plant to grow.
Alone I roam with the air,
The wild administer to me fair.
People all make you only sin,
This is the truth I’ve felt and seen.
An eye for an eye or more,
A tooth for a tooth as before.
The Jew’s pound of flesh
To many, is still very fresh.
The Arabs cut off a limb
When thieves take a claim.
When a tyre burns around a neck,
There is no talk of giving a break.
In the Eastern coast of the lower Niger,
A nail in the skull or something bigger.
The Armed robber is shot for being armed,
His intent is not proven but simply termed.
When they shot all those drug pushers,
It was for viewers not the crime or its ushers.
They stoned only some adulterers
And gas still, only some murderers.
Electrocuting the mass killers;
Our history is a mass of chillers.
Every crime is a punishable sin,
Even if a players hurts another’s shin.
Could we not be mistaken in our verdicts?
Isn’t it also human to err even with convicts?
In punishing every other sinner,
Are we not even much bigger?
Resulting to a permanent punishment
We can not reverse like its judgment?
What right has one to take what one can’t give?
Why should anyone, if the looser chooses to live?
Is the wage of sin known?
To whom has it been shown?
Are these plentiful lawful pages
Enough to administer its wages?
I mourn the saints of past;
They were seen not on a mast.
I crave a tiny feel of their last;
Today in the same it is all lost.