Jack The Snake Poem by Thabani Khumalo

A torn man, totally broken and languished -
obviously tired and feeling unsure,
askew-ly stands in a state of a guilty doubt
upon the bridge of life that leads to eternal freedom.
He doesn't want to go back to the calm heaven,
which is all about making joyous errands inside the church -
and he openly hates their prescribed way to happiness.

His sins are a shiny luggage he can't afford to drop for any church.
He has a weapon inside that can kill any man of any strength and,
at the ghetto is where he intends to commit murder.

He is let be Jack the snake to the chaotic cheer of the hells below -
and to the spite all the spooky creatures of a higher clime called heaven,
which is where he gathers his rueful personality of being.
He strikes in secret and injects a sickening venom off his back -
even without getting a taste from the famous pots of life,
he gets even from clandestine places where he gets to recoil and rest his mind.
He has only responded when his name has been called and
his serpentine being is the worst trigger of his rage.

A man without a paler complexion does not worship in church.
The thing that keeps me going is the memory of only the beautiful girls I once came to like.