Major Elazia

Wings To Fly - Poem by Major Elazia

I sing my songs of lamentations cursing the day I was born,

Born a destitute into this folorn world of misery

And nursing hopes already cast on broken stones and forgotten promises.

Each day Itrek over the burning baren hills of fortune.

Saintly carrying a borrowed pen and paper taking another step in life

With the hope of scribblling a line or two and be regarded as the learned villager...

If only someone could give us the wings to fly.

What pain adorns my daily suffering

To what shelter shall I remain in my mortal fear of a slained hope;

Wherefore in peril wretched sickness torments my life into emaciated fragments,

Why should my cause suffer failings among men in the arena of success?

All my friends fend themselves in dryness of hallowed emptiness

So it all renders the epitome of nothingness as my gift in poverty

Hence, oh unseen foe, in what abyss of dark angels did you hide my hope

I go down on my knees of despair, foraging in the gutters of famine,

Seeking a mine, that was long plundered, and chances squandered

On the crosses of the grave, thunder strikes me asunder...

Where will I get those eagles' wings to fly?

While we congregate under the thorny acacia trees

Nature's wrath colludes with the folly of ill-taught lessons

To make us dumb a student full of unsolicited despair;

Where are you, Oh Good Samaritan...and gift us the wings to fly!

Accross the burial grounds I see the ghosts of tortured souls

That died in avid pain, lost in unfathomable and despicable filth

A nation rolled to sleep and forgot it's unfortunate lowly citizens

Mr. Carpenter, cut more the timber, they all need a slumber

...Dear God, that coffin they have made, I fear,

May take me home to sleep...unless I get those wings to fly

How will I walk from this treacherous life of diseases and gloom,

From a thousand tombs what shall save me from this doom,

The tomb of hunger, death, famine, orphanage, and lost hope of a future?

Mankind can fly, yet, was born with no wings,

Arm me with hope, oh Good samaritan, some birds have wings yet can never fly.

Give the sanctified hand of help and a bit of your self-sacrifice

Where my children's future shall not be encased in uncertainty.

Good Samaritan from the depth of the unknown

Hold my hands and help me not sink into the perils of the quicksands

Which threaten to erase the whiskers of fading hopes in my prayers.

I come imploring you to help me rise above the desert storms

Give me the treasured hope above your measured leisure and for sure,

It will be a pleasure to sing the songs of lamentations no more,

Because my future shall shine like the north star.

I will come to your rescue Oh Child of Hope!

Dread no more in your frequent pains, you stand slain no more

Take this bread and leave no dainty morsels on the table

I shall give you the water of fortune, the fortune of a secured future

I shall give you a sheltered haven from the ravages of nature to read and write

Until the end of time, I shall give you water and solid hope.

Unto the skies this wings I grant you to fly and soar to your dreams

Dear heaven to God I kneel in meek humbleness

To pour out my gratitude to the Good Samaritan

As I walk into a new and bright future

I know its time for me to fly,

Because I have been favored with the mighty wings to fly.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, June 28, 2012

Poem Edited: Saturday, June 30, 2012

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