The Shepard's Of Arcadia 9 Poem by Felix Emeka George

It was during the last August meeting,
In a car travelling to our home town
By the high way,
On a scotch, swiftly smooth tar
That seems straight-slaughter-slaughtering-
A dance of the car on the road
By hot and scotching afternoon
That the car winded into the wood

And thus,
many, many among many passing,
We are removed from the iron,
In distorts of pains beyond hearing
Like a flashing shooting star
Far remove in the night
Flash! Flash! In faster tar flied
Like an Eagles of heaven
Conveyed us in bleeding baths
Because we,
My parents and I is dying

The Samaritans were there in no time,
Looking not happy like a half moon
Peeping as owl in the nighttime
Through the rigid law of the land

The sheriff is a camouflage of chameleon
To treatment for a bill of wrath or wrong
To write the right in this suffering and dying,
And torrential of blood Pouring like
Rain drizzling for deposit attention

Alas! Our medical is here
The apparatus are commonly scarce
As there is no medicine and
There are reluctant to distribution,
Let talk of resuscitation of mouth to mouth
Message
As oxygen is not there
But is on the air
Where we are left on the corners cold
Like paupers
In snider of abandoned road,
Soaked in bloody pool
As a fish swimming in marina

The heart of the attendance is
Like a beating treat of deaf
In my remaining living ear,
While I listed stealthy to the strange
And unnatural wailing of many around,
As we lie down with sun days gone by
On our blood pool sooner than a man of
Heart like liver mort gate his international card

But when the time of exasperation comes
Among many voices, was of a mainly voice
Ringed like a bell, I heard toiling as
Of a parting warning, tell all men to leave
That voice that came loud calling
Like a call I will call a parting call
And my mother answering into the world beyond

At the sickbay, we have been there
From the sunset in the west
To the Circled of sun rise in East,
Planted In the emergency ward
Like sitting reception of television,
Thus the nurse playing,
Mirth loud and talking dead
In the way my mother suffer
Completely wrapped on white sheet on floor
With her face half - open eyes and mouth
She stalled in pain and anxiety!

I have been in the cross-road
Of life and death, I can hear
Of nurses latest bits of gossips
On the row of the world
Of beauties and ugliness and
Of their admirer, of old and new

I do not know what has gone wrong with my people
But,
My cries is as a bereaved child
On those strange eyes
Like a dead wood, laying numb as store,

My mother is lying on the floor
Like a plastered rigout mortis set
I am the lucky one lying on the floor
In a half - life
But in the middle way of life and death
While my father on the floor rolling and rattling
Like a trapped snake, crumpled in flesh
In a flash, He only to go beyond
And listen to the world of heaven.
Deafen the world words of worlds
And all disrupting of life and fate of the man
Is but to listen to the divine will of stillness.