The Whirling Storm Of Evil

The Whirling Storm Of Evil long poem

Photo by dead_elvis

THE WHIRLING STORM OF EVIL

From the dark recluse in my thatched mud hut
I barricaded myself; with the palm of my hands
pressing tightly against my ears, vainly trying
to shut out the mournful tune of the dirge playing
at the village square on the Ekere drum

The wind, like a harbinger of evil news, hung
in the air over the thatched roof of my hut,
bearing the mourning cry of the women
from the distance, occasionally punctured
by an equally dreadful hooting of the night owl

A soul has departed from among the living
and the evil spirits from the dark realm have come
to usher the departing soul of the dead, home
Leaving a pulsating dread and gloom, that pervades the
psychic of the children in our ancient kingdom

Our childhood dreadful evil has now metamorphosed
into mortal being, pervading our world in abandoned
recklessness; visiting every home and nation with
a satanic cruelty that leaves us soaked in frightful dread
No clime is spared from these marauding diseased beings

How did mankind plunge himself into this abyss of barbaric
culture and life style, that is threatening to consume our race
And yet, we pretend all is fair and well, while the whirling
Storm of evil, being let loose in our shores from the fringe of hell,
is wreaking unimaginable murder and mayhem that is likened to the
great tribulation

It is time for those with the light to shine their light
stronger and brighter, from shore to shore; in every home and city
to chase away this malaise, attired in a mortal cloak, terrorizing the human race
Lest, like an enveloping mist, the darkness will spread over our world, and
the light we’ve hidden under our bushel
Then, our land will be trodden under the sodden feet of evil.

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