Though the whispers come and the nods do see
I wonder what displeasure looks down on thee
May the crows cry out and ravens die
and all perfection never tell a lie
If the holy ghost was that muted fence
an object invisible with no priority
would the wicked see what good stood for
of all who stand still in democracy
Do you hear the call of the darkest flock
who once towered upon the highest throne
where pain struck and swords flew wild
and bellies groaned while hearts moaned
What will we do when red day come forth
and feathers rise to reclaim their own
let the bells toll in the steeples high
and all monsters whiter and brutally die
Written by: Melvina Germain
Date: June 27/2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem