Dying Sons Of Words Poem by Olajide Timilehin

A new world in a new lights
Comity of remarkable men
Prowling with swollen faces
Bitten by the bees of change.

Conscious of their livid rights
Brevity, a precious we must pen
Neatness in their various places
Stronger with the flew of age

Adieu to the horrible plight
Kudos to the possible when
Rhymes, author of poetic aces
Limiting to draconian range.

Greatly we know thy might
All prayers surely await amen
Meaningless are rumble races
The painting of lustful image.

Proudly we stand as knight
By the pen, we fight for our men
Not for honour, not for grace
We only hone to break the cage.

Invasion, in the dreadful of night
By force, they break our hymen
But the pen remains our mace
A processor always the rage.

The Guardians choose us bright
The honour hoarse our rumen
Dress us in silk rather than lace
But right on light we back on stage.

Though the road come so tight
We are scared immortals by pen
Ever we live in springs like dace
All our dreams written on page.

We are the writers of right
Masters of the adept-pen
The valiant setters' of pace
Children of the scribblers' lineage.