Virtues Call Poem by Adeosun Olamide

My humbleness has made me little
My modesty art me trampled
My gentleness_ made dull
My patience art me crumbs
Oh virtue, a curse, my ill

By my truth, lies many a grave
My cleanliness, tended no sores
For silence, a groan is won, worn a man
For the robe of integrity, tattered trust-
Oh virtue, a curse, my club

Contentment, when body needed more
My frugality_ making miserly
My courage_ stirred in tempting dangers-
And my esteem, cannot be a burden
-What virtue, a curse, a suicide

The light is on my eyes
-So loud I am in a dark
And I_ desiring now the sickness that brings love
-Wrap no more my nakedness in the twirl of virtue