I'm Me Poem by Imafidon Mac Henry
I'm Me
I'm the poor lad,
You once mocked,
With no hopes to hold,
I was the bat beaten by rust-reeking rains,
Whom was worthy save for the seventh sacrifice.
I was the flood-painted sojourner,
You shooed from your glass,
windows and frangipani field,
for the ghetto was my reality,
Because I had a vain voice,
Because God gave me a straight
path to tread,
To reach high above the clouds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/23/2024 11:08:28 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Gratitude Vincent Somto, I'm humbled.