Perilous Poem by Otega A

Time passeth and the nights cometh.
For long, they were much awaited; now, more so hated.
Each is a twin of the former,
Neither of either, any different from life beneath the blazing sun.

The woman turneth to console her weeping child;
Yet herself is only a faded maiden,
Plaited with rivers of tears,
Stale and new,
Forever continuous from her much reddened eyes.

The man faileth; as a being and as a father.
Dust and ash, his only companions.
He is a painted character
Always pacing to and fro the corners of the narrowed streets,
Long longing for days
He would become the son of his daughters.

Thus naked and rated, serenity is all sold out.
Innocence is naught; a hardened condemned criminal,
Adjudged so by both the young and old,
Men in suits, gowns and garments alike.
All finding the cause to put the black robe on it,
Making it fitted only for the knot of the hangman.

‘Peril' is the word in times so blue devilled.
Hushed but loud on every lip,
It is the word when weeping is sought by all.
Hate is the precious flower
Gardened green each day by all men.
Love is pernicious; insane and ludicrous.
A thing of much disdain.

Times blue devilled;
Times unsure, cold but true.
Bloom is dearth, gloom prevails.
The air bears the devil of delight to self,
But saneness to the surety of subsistence.
There's not another time that beckons to man's thoughts
Than times in peril.