Memory. . .
Memory of the ancient,
I recall the deadly feast
Distress hollowed succinct
slaves wasted lots of yeast.
Miracle took place- all faked,
at the mountain of debt- aged
Spirits of the land paid
neither silver nor gold, but blood
Drums thundered so high,
the priests went ghost
Gongs mourned: raged to fly,
brave soldiers gone ghosts.
Crossbows sitting on caskets,
picked bones turned weapons
A war to come; lost is horns
whilst the owls tell the tales.
Here and there, full of crossbars
the enemy combated but loosed
Survived bodies grew- full of scars,
freedom came to unite the brotherhood.
Saints walked through this memory,
often they eager to tell the tales
Entities clashed, lands dug wells
as bloodshed flooded here to Cadbury.
In grief, in agony, in tears,
the tales shall mount the ears,
That the oils in our lands,
may come to rise our hands.
Between the untold story of. . .
abides the cargo truths unheard,
Amidst the souls sheltered in Beecroft,
fearsome- the soldier on guard.
©AUTHOR KELLY JUUZ
(A salient prolific author...)
06/02/2018
11:52PM
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