CLARION CALL

Come brothers, come
come muses, come
priests and priestesses,
let our thoughts form alphabets
let our unsaid become spoken
let not our pen of the sword be scared
‘truth like love is becoming rare
and lies; the people now hold dear.

Listen, pens, listen
to those who have ears,
listen to unspoken echoes
to muffled wails
like snails,
the voice of truth is terrified
to leave its hard bitter shell
and crawl
to the soft beach of freedom.

Come brothers come
come muses, come
word’s priest and priestesses
let our words process solemnly
from the sacristy of the mind
and bleed ink on the altar
of fine wood.
Dozie.

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