Midway Through The Horizon Poem by pedro moshood

The little winter bathed
the earth with frosty dawn
As the peasant left the field
and left their spade behind.

This paradise is at peace
as shadows fall upon shadows,
And faces of ancient drowned mariners
engaged in talks:

What heralds the era of war
with spear point extended toward
The eyes of the bards, and kill their muse,
who write of peace with sturdy heart?

We scarcely bear the rifles
But cannon to avenge.
We hardly pressed ahead
The chase when we dropped
In perfect silent peace
Beneath the swampy sepulcher.

The immortels planted by racists
Has hidden peace within the Eden
Before our ancient land
Then turns to quagmire,

Entrapping our feet,
Indeed our feet before the sharp
Pointed pool of spears that plummeted
And buried within our chest.

The philosophers
Who dare defend their theory
Against the babarity of tradition
Are forced to take helmlock down the drain.

A man tethered our clan
To pull his wagons and worked them
every day and night-
We're always crushed
Beneath the height of our horizon.

Our land is swampy
And left untilled and full of weeds.
Our progeny left their Sodom in rubles
And traversed across foreign bridges
To prospect toward the cyclop's prairies,
While their antecedent receive no royal burials;

They left their boggy vaults
Without being transformed
For millenium and
Their rusting flesh
For cannibal vultures to feast.

Their children can't measure
Befitting feet for descent burial,
although they succumbed
To bullet for their clan to live.

Our females survived
Beneath their holy virtues
To trade their loins for a piece of coin
From men along the street.

The ancient cougar of blacks
are casted out of their habitat;
With sullen heart they take
To foreign street to wanders at twilight.

We thronged towards
the crafty boggy land
That spreads like
Some yards of carpet floor.

Our clan's redemption
Deranged and nudged us
from deep millennium marble sleep
for pity and tears

After many years of silent sleep
Beneath the floor
of blend and crusty, sepia
And black plain festered
In the heart of the hamlet
Where we dropped our mantles for tears.