From The Pit I Came Poem by Boitumelo Oliphant

I behold your beauty as I entangle myself in what seems your bosom’s belt,
So down to earth that you denied your person a shadow’s dent in the sun’s scotch as agony and pain rang your bell.
A mystery, that is the drops of your Meta by the way side palming through and throughout your very conception.
You left glory’s sit and came to par with dust.
It dawned as you carried me over to the messy sit.
Today I call myself grace for in you I tallied an unmeasurable bid of opulence’s autonomy.
I call myself favoured for you lifted me from the dents of destruction that lay with a catholic mouth tilting by the way side as it swanned to devour my turf. Out of ink