Our Lord

Our lord,
Do you know that our sons are hungry?
Since the volcano is embellished with
The souls of the beautifull ones
Their voices strangled in my ears over night
I couldn’t stand the strained weeping
When a feeling of relief washed over me
I saw them one after another
Behind each other,
Line by line, shouting!
But I couldn’t overhead a single word;
The model of probity in our generation
They’re probable to be the savours;
Where have they gone?
Are they at the posy of Africa violet?
Are they arranged in line?
Or covered with embroidered silk drapery?
Drat! The gluttons are mindless of the Milky Way’s warnings.

Our lord,
Do you know your life is not safe?
As things go on like this
Everyone turned out to be like you
Dish your hopes and the dirt discreetly
Readily to dash against the rock;
When our demonstrations speak nothing,

But dear-john-letter owing to the dearth of freedom
We’ve decidedly divorce you
With suitable decorum,
Because you full of clever dodge.