Counting Hearts Poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo

I guess…
We x-ray hearts differently
Pints, love, pity, bangs and chess
No conscience walking confidently
Blue stained red and black as an awful dress
Bad versus evil, good is knocked out completely
Plunges, blood stained, wet grasses in sour vex
Burdens, sorrow chipped correctly
Poison arrows, bands and clamps make life a mess
Emotions not drawn from senses sniffs deadly
Curie might have started the problem, but who will end this dance which seems endless
And the clay He would smash and start off again coldly
Mother, this world is for counting hearts
Not your game to say checkmate
The frog roars, the bird howls, what louder noise my mate makes?
Till everyone's funeral is in their diary up to date
Coarse hands yank life far away in deaths
Of countless, stubborn, stiff and cold hearts in a suitcase
Whence does music calm troubled breasts?
But frenzy all tied up for theirs to use
Treasures and gold even fall to the brim of their crests
And my own little ballad, they want to create a dimple
Then I yearn for one in two days as he rests
They bother charity and peace to caress
And transform those who seek it in ugly stress
Thrown in their hands is power and authority to change what is
The times
And futures
And lies
And tribes, religions and worlds
Programs operate under their programmes
Nails, dollar bills and angry faces
No hearts, no conscience
And failing God, our economy falls
Down and down we drain
Down and down the drain
And yet it rains
But does not corrode peoples wicked desires
Their ambitious plans
We bother what causes the troubling storms
What brings about the daily plagues
It is because we find on us stains
And for hearts so wicked as this to do things
Forgets
That there is a counting of hearts
Of course, He would not yet put those faulty behind bars
He'll just separate the wheat from the tars
One, two, three, four…
Yes, this I know…