Fathers of the Beautyful Ones

Easy to find the bad in people

Harder to point a good spot in the dirt

The land rummaged with vile and hurt

Misunderstanding turning into battle wounds

Mistakes forgotten

Forgiveness never asked

Hoping for acceptance

Souls all caught in a web

Spiral, when we dance

In a bottle, Gulliver’s romance

Sun color, fake blinding

Tell me more

These walls do speak

Of my history

Of Badagry

Right from the ledge

into wooden moving houses

See!

the cleaner spots

I refused

Easier to continue

Hence, I’ll stop

In the tradition of forever

I seek and keep on

Black skin under the catacombs

Souls buried within encrusted diamonds

On foreign fingers and border necks

To further and protect?

Maybe! Until the day comes

when the beautiful ones are finally born

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