The Forsaken Limits Poem by Gilbert Alasa

When I chose to pitch this tent
Beyond these forbidden limits, I sense
A sweaty embrace of a lonely realm
This bewitching little, little cares now I crave

Yet, old paternal pledges forbade
Flocking filthy trails amidst phony folks
Lost in the rhythm of vicious lots
Serving a master I do not know

Who the dump my head tossed
The path of repose I do not know
Even while bringing the sky low
The escape of this rain now I long

For, fleeing from the snare’s greasy clutch