Corrupt Arms Poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie

The law’s inferno, for burning out crime,
is nei’er alive nor living in their hearts;
freezing justice to become still in time,
when they’re false in fulfilling their just parts.
Indiscipline, whose body is of slime,
aims ever at truth its marring keen darts;
corruption’s elevated to its prime,
as they breed dirt through their veiled charts.
The cry of lives against hell is no chime
to their ears, but a mute. Oil-steeped mood starts
greed in th’ top seats, who after their climb
to the houses, loot wealth—wide through bribe’s arts.
Light-fingering th’ state’s vaults many-a-time,
failing lives across beds, desks, stalls and carts;
the arms’ vain power like the simply thawed rime,
has ailed offices, schools, farms, plants and marts.
For greed: wealth’s vile as waste; life’s sour as lime;
leaders, voracious as gluttons on tarts,
gorge billions as if to sap every dime,
like droughts turning forests into deserts.