Demons Of Peace Poem by Folayemi Akande

A plebeian pleated tattered garment of whirl,
Dusky, rusty, embodiment of rage,
Lingering on indigo witty night,
Mourned by carcase of lingering cave,
White strobe light heaped on garment praise,
Aimed with capricious nebula of glee,
The pickled flower bud of shrub,
Caper in lively recedes,
Chattering as if a canvass of homage
Sniffing for raja-tama to merge their vibration,
A hell of pensive ominous sonata,
Muffling gait precedes the gale,
A blaring vociferation,
Growling readily for attack,
They satisfy their lust,
Raping naked vistas with crevices,
To assimilate black concoct energy,
With a condiment by sorcerers.
Transmitting distressing sounds like earthquake,
Or running there-in-there-out with no cognizance but torrent.
Heralding a barrage of weird sound,
Christened by nightly twilight.