Fallen Reign Poem by Folayemi Akande

Oh, poor thee, thy soul is bereft of that which is grace
Thy abject state is worse that no curse can enrich
Cloak thyself unto thy sad knot And let the sore works of thy hands sail through thy time
For I have no grace or wilt to bless thee with my curse
For even my curse unto thee is but a blessing.

For thou hast breathed plague throughout our days
thou summoned us beneath the clutch of thy uppression
Thou invested thy fortune in a venture with the devil
Who hast only lent unto thee a fraction of 'bundant glee
Shalt devil be devil or thee be termed devil?
For if devil art not devil then thee art evil
For thee art more stern than devil himself could lease.

Thou art most tyrant, no demon can ever match
Fortified by the liquors of power
To grieve thy lost wilst be a fool's delight
Wherefore art thy pity and thy wretched mercy
When we were stormed by the whirl of thy rage
Drowned into the pool of thy hate
For then, no piteous thought visited thy temper
How then do we repay thy mountaineous debt
With grace that thou already bereft us of?
Mercy no longer resides in us
For thou findeth it abode wherelse
Because thou believed we were too poor to hier such grace.

Thy rage seem not well funded by
the devil no more
Have you no sense that ally with the devil is no mortal business?
Thou breathes driftly into despair
IfI let loose my opinions now, none shalt favour thee
Mystery acquaints such a man with such tyrant zest

Do not misjudge my discontent of thy action
I seek not thy destruction but utmost repentance
For what shalt it profet a man who seeketh the life of another?
As much grace as thou have heisted from me
Even if it's my life I shall give to forgive thee.
For i do not wish to become half the demon that you were.