Vilain Tintinnabulation Poem by richad adrian munene

The filth of long gone demons haunts my mother's land
and i a son of the soil cant trade my spark for such half _baked Elitism that scolds the dreads of my childhood.i tremble the alleys of my youth
the coridors of elitement that turned sweetest my sour paths.
i dread the epitaph of time that reminds of past scores never settled.
yet live in us and we in them like an enchantment of our mothers to us
an indictment by an entire generation unto us the next posterity.
left in past tense.poor us that live in dread of ancient smoke.
our tomorow probably taken perchance the probability of surviving a whistling wind.
shaking the roots of existing by future dreams of whirling storms.
the storms of time that live us with mere vision and sight for tomorow.
when my daily bread is snatched right my suffering mouth and the dreads of my childhood follow the writings of my epitaph-'-