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    WordSmithPraise | An African Literary Blog

    Promoting Literary Activities Worldwide

    Saturday, 9 September 2017

    DRESSED BUT NAKED

    .

    Time past in silent slumber,
    Memories of our fallen flash like thunder,
    The generation gone into cold eternity,
    Then they hold their moral integrity.
    Then a mad man is thus known,
    By rags, tore and tattered clothes,
    Exposed oranges billow in the breeze,
    The third leg danger in cold left to freeze.
    The lock of the head,
    Only a Nazarene  you'll dread,
    Lest the crown of a lunatic,
    Tangles in dread, brown and foul.
    Lest my grayed mother of memories beloved,
    Earth her feet from six feet beyond,
    Her voice she would give in sigh and wail,
    For morality has left, gone without a trail.
    Clothes tore like tattered rags,
    Trousers fallen from waist in sags,
    These words no longer sink,
    Cos their heads dread.
    I close the window of my soul,
    When sight is foul,
    Frown my face at what seem soured,
    Cos all I see now is people who are dressed but naked.
    ©d faithful poet
    8/8/17

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