Like Paul, Like Silas Poem by Tosin Abegunde

Like Paul, Like Silas

In this dungeon I lay, lips sealed,
Waiting patiently for an angel
Either for danger or safety
Because my breath is corrupt
As I enjoin th' company of anguish
Which makes my days seem extict
I stand helpless among able giants
Sepulchre beckons on me to come
As the lions of men roar in fury:
My eyes dim by reason of sorrow.

When my days become past,
With broken and tattered purpose
The night then, changes into day:
The light shortend 'cos of the dark.
I asked 'Where is now my hope,
In this wretched and elusive world
And if it comes who shall see it? '
Certainly, no one: who cares?
Besides, I've been a lone ranger
Begging for peanut amidst plenty!

This experience is older than I;
And no strength I've got to live.
Expectation becomes faintly seen,
But the inner man keeps shouting:
'This is not my home; I must go! '
Lithurgical approach I sought
Minding the horror of the torture
That builds my face and pelvics.
No one taught me to write a letter
Not by a pen but with my bone and blood.