Curse Of The Black Gold
Betwixt the firmament, and light's unerring speed;
Eros cries foul.
His quiver quivering
As greed mocks his valiant attempts with a rebarbative roar.
Broken slings, misplaced stings, lost wars-
And former triumphs becoming mere shadows of what once was.
The curse of the black gold,
The magical straw with an unending hole;
Nostrils flare wide, eyes bleeding red-
With an impeccable lust for domination.
Poisoned by familiar blood,
Bled by the enemy's son.
Now his head, a bountiful bounty,
Should someday a favor be required.
Foreign bells are ringing.
An alien hand has dealt,
A bluff? Not yet. But maybe.
Hence, my invitation to you; watch and see.
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Comments about this poem (Curse Of The Black Gold by Jolomi Amuka )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(January 30, 1935 – September 14, 1984)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(16 April 1918 – 27 February 2002)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
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