To Where My Makers Loathe Poem by Adeosun Olamide

O heavens induced delusions
That art mine ever- cradle roamed freely
Hearken- this plaything yours- it calls
Come weary whispers that strives thee
Beyond own sown murmurs- hark!

To gulp wine made only ye- come
Art thee here thy flies form to -swill
Yea, this sweet blood that spoils- drink!
Come- ye whom no foul in hell match
Aye, my curser from birth- I prithee to

Prattle- prattle- the whispers my ears
Helter- helter- thy gait in my dark
O that gives solely music I leap to
And put robes as -my eye -frayest of rags
Done to make freedom mine fetters bore

Thou made stones- berries hides appear
And rope- my bow tie does seems
That veil fire as child in need nurture mine
And put my understandings to birds chirp only
Aye more done to make will mine shackles bore

But come while there a day be more
To mock and have thy play-
For hour is nigh I turn ash
To tell too the wrong I did thee
To be made thy earth-

Aye, what wrong heavenly sires-
That my reason- ye colonize so
And on my mind cinders peril
Aye come- O heavens delusions inducers
For soon- your plaything finds hell a messiah