Swim this death canyon

Tributaries of blood and tears

Rushing, gushing veins

Of bustling, bursting brains

Griefs of planned catastrophe

Of Callous Hypocritic Bishopric.

Scream! Screaming Akwa Ibom

And prepare to WAIL.

Smear your Pontifical surplices

With lamentations and heartaches

As in TEN TWELVE SIXTEEN

As in the day tomorrow died.

Scatter your offerings and sacrifices

For your praise is drowned

In this hollow grave.

Oh Achan! Oh Akan!

Taking tolls of many

For the avarice of one

You who birthed like the wind

To speak my Name and mend souls

Not in this cassock of wine

Weighted in silver down there

Crushing them; bringing me shame.

Howl hard and howl long

Mercy is deaf

Because they that love you wept

And fled the grimness of praise.

Rent that bloodied cloak

And shed that dent of weight.

Let Sobriety speak

Perhaps Mercy will hear again

Perhaps He will mend their broken hearts

And heal their wounded souls

On this day of the setting sun.© FrancisUdo