The Casted Vote Poem by Wilson Tinotenda Waison

To reminisce what yester held
With the unleashed zeal beheld
I fear the prospects tomorrow holds
Ironic is it? The quest still molds

The comrade that took a bullet for me yesterday
Turns to be the oppressor today
Who lures am into submission.
I give it a thought, the eqaution

Tis a bliss in my tribulation with daring laments
Now my wrath can aflare in any moments
For the comrade conspired against my prospects
And ruled am with an iron sceptre, without respect

Only to impede the better of me in a life test
Look at how i frown from the word protest*
I am worn out with groaning
As it has made no difference even in moarning.