Cold-Compassion Poem by MATHEW OYEDELE
Cold-Compassion
Who is the slave?
Me, or this metallic monster?
That drains my emotion
And compassion!
For leaders I meet not
I fight.
For terrorism sake
My bed, neglected.
Loneliness, my shelter
Emotion, my adventure
Expectation, ample
Disappointment, the response.
Therefore, forgiveness, non-existent
Wickedness, my food
I kill, not my beloved
But strangers on the stem of my beloved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 3:50:31 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
An insightful piece of poetry set aside for honest contemplation. Thanks for sharing Mathew and welcome to Poemhunter.
I appreciate