His' Africa
Live your rooms and betake to this hour, Africa!
Forsake, if star-crossed tracks; thy ailling canker.
Bathe your visage and comport to your puissance.
Alas! You were those, past. So, bare thy luminescense.
Through that of whom you are, enfeeble thy languor.
Tow your chicks along, whom hatched to your
savour.
Not ever again, shake through foresaken nods;
that to, flowered your forebears upon their seconds.
Either blithe or woeful, betake your brow to flaw.
Take your bath, those are your toils and labour.
With ménage in chorus, throng through your prove
and stand your biles. Die not even, upon this move.
Neither your semi-sweats they aids, even alone mould
to your freshest breath withering sotto-voce untold.
Array through the shadows athwart their rumours
that you are, hither to not, could only your celestial toss.
Last unborn anymore and mourn thy yesternights.
Essay your hood vie his fellow 'til your bower alights.
Oh Africa! You had it unfruitful, die so your hero.
Rather, mighty but veilled Iroko_the heavy Tyro.
Interred alive your children's paean for plaints
to sing their Epics through Elergies across firmaments.
Aargh Africa! Through my all, Goodness I urge
A crown you are and spied had I unto the Demi-urge.
Trail beside alchemy, unthoughtful to whom you are.
That were you, Africa! You can, through that you were.
Ah Africa! Oh could you, within bucolic Hearth
by which your myths and Ballads were your natural bath.
poem by Faeo 'Lyre' Clive
Added by Poetry Lover
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