Samuel Rapson Davou 1 year ago
@samuel-rapson-... 3 min read Write a comment #poem-poetry

To My Unborn Child

A prophetic message to an unborn child from a departing parent. Probably a young parent instructing his/her child to careful of the decaying world is coming to live in and know to be his/her home, but of course, temporal home.

My child
age is like grass
it grows and withers in the wild,
while time is brief as it’s quick to pass
yet vast after gone to the other side.

My child
a million stories are yet to be told
many centuries have yet seen.
The world is wild
hearts of men have gone cold
flirting tongues are oozing deadly vim.

Child, before my naked eyes
these hands, this heart wallowed under the sun
with a nagging peace song for ties.
Juggling limbs, slowly approaching with a gun
manipulated fingers squeezing the life out of us,
we were sanctioned to oblivion by some of us.
A disturbing day came
while having a good time with family
like a rumor attacking with firearms, stones, and cane
claiming all that I am, eternally.

Child, sometimes the tongue
can be out of place
being like a lethal or a sluggish matter;
I tell you, stop pleasing others
when it appears detrimental.
Society is eager to plunk
any source of growth for your disgrace,
exempt your enterprise from marauders.

Child, I cannot endure another blow
but I had no choice,
they said my work was undone
my service is not gratified.
I had to push on hard to glow
Even amid my haters, I could rejoice
I could sneeze and pardon
those who inflicted my name backfired.
To be a man of lofty character
it does not mean you are persona-non-grata
in the face of self-exalted persona grata.

Child, many will come your way
some may opiate your mind
with lofty sentiments come what may,
but live uprightly, learn tough chide.
Honor to live by the Word
you will experience inner peace,
take every step with a prowess sword
knowing that only the dogged lead.
See every opportunity as your best bet
to increase your worth;
for men can plunge your deed
into an infernal pool of grief.

The masses are starving
and struggling to gratify the elites.
They poach on the meager account of the masses
and ridicule their industrious hands.
My child, you will come to know 
why are we senselessly and incessantly dying,
as you will come to realize
before God and man, do not stoop before the elites,
serve your God and humanity encompassing.

Child, when I was like you, I lost a lot of chances.
When you come to maturity,
your siblings will imitate you; if you forget what this comprises,
approach the bearer of my surname.
If in doubt or fear or otherwise reluctant,
Remember, you’re my first fruit. 
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