Lazarus At The Gate Poem by Gilbert Alasa

The weary day slowly ticks away
But the journey seems lengthy by the day
Even at the dead of the night, the watch
Trade in earnest launch

The strongbox no rogue cart away
Yet these limits in my heart lay
A stabbing sore in my subtle paunch
O! I bewail the bunch

Of endless gnashing brazing its trail
All night, leaving its sour savor at dawn’s tail
Caught in the muscular rhythm in the vault
To soar above the madness, of neon-faced gods

Yet the Lazarus at your gate!

The weary day slowly ticks away
Yet, in my last legs I dress thy estate
Even my plight I do not flaunt
I shook this beefy plow

Without looking away
I’m the Lazarus at your gate!