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Why were we
so quickly swayed by their theory of evolution?
evolving into famine and starvation for the most fertile nation
spewing wet hush lul-la-lies
they dug dig into her purse
a third world debt.
Nations United to collect said cheques
our collective neglect, an inability to keep it all in check
inflated inflation bounced across the graveyard of empires 'til the land of upright men knelt
debts mounting like mountain summits she unwillingly submits her will handing over, hand over hand at their annual summits
continuously giving them due credit
Standing ovation she sits in (miss) in formation thanking with uproar an eruption of hand stinging applause − happy just to live, appreciative of their new laws and their generous outpour of western corporate corruption, an incessant, infectious insect-like bite to neck WHO then inspects encouraging removal of priceless necklace prior to pandemic strike leaving her neck less.
Severed head. Forecast red, 'Severe... reign fall.'
Crowns removed like wisdom 'teef! teef!' she cried in native tongue while son's of her sons sat SATs learning new queen's speak.
Sunset on son's future not so bright after all.
Daily we see the abandonment of our legacy, therefore we shall/should never forget, but still why did we not foresee?
the colour, the cut, carat and clarity, all Four C's as they manifested their destiny across all seven seas for conquest.
Did we forfeit on purpose? Are we not fit for purpose?
Blind dating destiny as...
Corps. Harvest crops from the blood stained, chestnut brown soil
of her gold, diamond mineral enriched sun baked oil-ly skin
depositories they slipped in
empty pores left us poor
in a-sunken-in porous, (un)fully-filled, unduly tilled, bellowing an unholy chorus of 'poor us.'
Holding hands we hand down these
stories from Gen X to Gen question mark Y? to Gen Next-in-line to pay off her debt in time
as Gen Zzzzzz sleeps.
'I. M. F'd,' she says;
her bankable words go unheard
her sounds drowned by the latest Afropunk's Afrobeats (un)knowing
DJs play with
ears covered their
ear drums smothered by
never knowingly undersold, over priced headphones unable to hear clear the drum to head home
as she weeps.
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▶︎ Hi, I'm Marcus "Paradise" Dawes’ I am a Poet, Rapper, Writer, Actor, Author, Philanthropist featured in Vice UK, The Times, Guardian, Independent, Telegraph, and more; stumbling towards publishing a #1 Best Seller. My latest musing, Writing a Great Synopsis: In 7 Simple Steps - How I Wrote the Best Book Synopsis Ever is a meditation on the ingredients required to create a memorable, succinct, and even a classic synopsis, plus there's the added insight bonus of peeping my work-in-progress autobiography.