Dis=grace Poem by Wilson Tinotenda Waison

Disgraceful was that speech of immunity
To be vowed, a loud sounding nothing,
Just alike an empty vessel, Which whistle
To the blowing breeze, Dance to the storm
So conflicting to whisper honest or truth.

Promises meant be broken instantly
Oh! What a shame. To campaign so deceitful
Pledging wiles to the masses, concealed
Her viles to post my conscience into that
Fox trap, digged deeply, left only to agonise.

Not even graced to please any, A red devil
She is, whom depletes my prospects, Yes
She is too conflicting, Her sentiments
To have brought names, curses, shame,
Dis-Grace and instigated many conflicts.

Now it is a sour bite of the prevailing truth,
Chewing or spitting won't craft a dissimilar,
Poised between disillusionment and discomfort,
Fate worth no laughter, Only groans, moans
Lamentation to this rinsed craft, Disguised.