For clout
For cloud
For clap
For class
And cash
And crash
And slash
And slap
And cut
And bleed
And blab
And block.
For bread
They break
And wound
And kill
And steal
And mock
The poor
And smash
The gate
Of fate
With Faith
That’s fake.
For jobs,
They lie
And plot
And cheat
And hurt
And blame
And game
And bite
And mock
And cut
The man
Of truth.
They failed
And fell
And gripped
With guilt
The heels
Of him
That’s faint
And weak,
This week,
With wigs
So thick
On heads
Of ticks.
With tricks
From hell
They cheer 
Their deer,
A dear
In pain
The life
In vain.
The hall
In all
Is hauled
By calls
Of owls
That crawl
At night
With beaks
Like swords
To hunt
Tall boys
With balls
In fields.
The ball
That boils
Like eggs
In pots
Of porks
Is boxed
By boys
In fields
Of play.
They pray
Like preys
In bush
Of hell
But God
Is sick
Of dogs
In sin.
In times
Like these
When poems
Are scarce,
To write
In twos
Is peace
Of mind.
©Eyoh Etim, 2023