There Is Nothing Credible

There is nothing credible
In our fainthearted edibles
Neither is a national curve
In our ribs-breaking coughs
Who are worthy residents
In our locomotive presidents
To the gains of the starry fuel
Silencers are caught up in duels
Good governance is not a hat
But an internally generated art
Caught in executioners’ campaigns
We bagged our grand graves in pains
Smitten by sore sorrows
Nurtured by fanged foes
The unfortunate calendar
Bleeds cardinally on fours
Soaked in mourners’ tears
Edged by mean morticians
The worm bearing calendar
Seeps cardiac allies by turns
Sunk in his sagged body bag
Rebranded in oversized lore
The date-breaching calendar
Defames the perfect seasons
Darkness returned
Hoarding our roofs
Like a furious flood
Towing down tears
Darkness returned
Hunting our hearts
Like the fiery darts
In the dark skyway
Darkness returned
Drained and dazed
With death-spread
For cold body bags
Darkness returned
Crawling on waves
In swift submission
To the eternal light
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Articles by Adeola Ikuomola