The Poor Blood Poem by Ajala Samuel Akindele

The blood of streaming through the vein
of the unfaithful patriot, disdain the affairs of artery measures.
Thy blood, thy servant, thy rod
They comfort my poor, penury
and pennicilence soul.
The substance of things unseen
But seen in the presence of sinners.
Famine in the vineyard of the faithful,
Fruitful co-existence among the negroes eschew
Violence and destruction.
Our money is looted!
Our economy is downfall!
We are dying and crying!
Blessed are those that cry;
For they shall laugh.
Thy rightful fundamental rights
are categorised and ascertain
as an evil of specie; unprotected
seraphim of ignoramus tubules
monetary in mycorrhizas.
The do or die affairs pressure
Determinant bringing existence
Of maladministration a soil façade
Of eschew violence.
Blessed are the political for they
Shall inherit the paradise vis-à-vis
Kingdom of calamity et cetera