Say Not Farewell, Mr. President Poem by christopher veremu

These my now humbled good feet
Carried this glorious mobile temple
Soaring high up sky with greased ease
Time without number to angels' temples
I transcended seas great rivers cleanly
Melting strangers' hearts making friends
From city to city shore with sweet finesse
Still within me this torture will not abate

Some will recall yes remember those days of yore
Dined I top of world with kings' queens more lords
Broke many a sweet lady's heart went into folklore
Blew earth's ransom riches most could not dream of
Fell into God's lap serenaded by piped tunes golden
Angels drooled triple sighed here spectacle twicefold
Kissed did I silver summer's leaves before they were born
Still within me this torture will not abate

Who about good light taught the stars a thing or two
Who ruled right firm sat in judgement of man and beast
Dealth death with swift abandon mocked good scripture too
Feasted on cold sweaty dreams of peasants' blind children
Forced crumbs out of babies' mouths used cannons for stools
Decimated all left nationhood worshipping the heathens' rules
Who commandeered thunder to invade even the hearts of fools
Still within me this torture will not abate

I drank young angels'hopes all hearts innocent I tore
Some swore I must have been Lucifer's one long lost clone
Such power I spelt torture anew made fear dance fast along
Could King Solomon same whose spleandor writ large in new gold
Would nary hold candle as distant winds played harp melodious
Seas leapt with unbridled joy mountains chorussing in accord
Now cheapest of ointments blistered feet mine will never know
Deepest within me this torture will never abate