Wasted Poem by John Chizoba Vincent

WASTED

Tell mother earth that am not impress with her attitude,
Tell the air not to laugh me again, he murderd my monday,
Tell the oceans not to mourn as a professional mouner, she drawn my precious tuesday.
Tell the trees to wave not, they frustrated my wednesday,
But comfort the waves 'cos they brought my spirited thurday.
Chase away death from my home, he killed my sad friday in a wasted combat on that bright friday.
Tell my fear to have peace, for my saturday is secured.
Pretend not to hear my sunday because she is mother
Of holiness created perfectly.


Tell father land, he has failed us,
Tell the rain of his distruction
Tell the earthquake of her mayham
In the white land, the ground had eaten enough
And should go on vacation least men finished on earth.
Tell the moon and the sun to go naked for the evil
In the land which they have caused.
My soul go and complain to your maker your deeds
Which the world had rejected you for.
The maker will understand you better, am not afraid to die because I put my trust in truth.


Banish my heart from your thought
For it is pure to be contaminated,
All is WASTED! All Is WASTED!
Church has traped us all, they sentenced our moral,
Every one hiding under the umbrella of religion and yet, they commit evil more than the pagans.
Schools have done us no good, they taught us
How to carry guns on the right hand and at the left
Hand, Bible.
Changing our modesty and enviroment just as
Diana Rose changes custome in a concernt.
Now the future is WASTED and I have to go.