The debacle of a forseen dawn is here;
The premonition of the forebears,
Has coiled out of its shell into manifestation.
Like the parable of the sower,
when some seedlings fell on thorny grounds,
while others chanced on virgin layers.
That echoes today’s mimic
The era of forlorn existence arrives
From a future whose imminence was relegated.
Behold the days of unpleasant novelty are here-
Days that overshadow sheer grit or indecision or both
The sun’s shade is on the wane to frail thinness.
For her shadow is now hollow
And the reprieve she provides is deteriorating.
As pangs of sadness renders,
perhaps the only accustomed route,
either voluntarily or involuntarily
Sons of pantheon
Who have long relinquished their birthrights
For treasures they had every right to grasp
Without losing their heritage,
Now look to albinos for respite.
The fullness of their established grounds
Waxes under the scourge their myopia
has brought upon them.
Unlike a factual allegory,
detail is of enormous importance
As haunts of little melanin hover around
What then shall the foundations do
When the pillars upon which they rest
Now hang on light threads which are tossed to and fro
By flimsy winds that blow from time to time.
As dreams continue to fall prey at infancy while brimming academia
perish by the daggers of cruelty,
or in contemporary vocabulary,
(c)Seth Boss Kay & Prince Ken