Quite a canon folk,

who have a really

crooked mentality of power,

murder is the muscle,

and their punch

is deception

The city swarms

with shadows,

the domain,

a hive of evil,

where the bees

sting like death,

they beat mercy

till it flees from their heart

with red-hot defiance

in their eyes,

they are breathing furnace,

talking inferno

that unleash hell

upon a decayed heaven;

peace is an old corpse

buried in the

graveyard of negligence,

long forgotten

by the code of hostility

They think their immune,

but the angels weep

but the grim reaper laughs,

as Satan upgrades his pawns

in this grim chess.

By Kakraba Afful

O beyond the shattered hills I see,

scattered bones scattered bones of me,

tattered visages, tattered visages of myself

let the world see how I have become an elf.

Look at me

I have been blessed with a scarf of boils

the devil laughs with glee

at a broken monument that spoils

O beyond the shattered hills I see,

scattered bones scattered bones of me,

tattered visages, tattered visages of myself

let the world see how I have become an elf

The total alliteration of sadness

born into residual madness

makes me sip bleakness

the melancholy of this darkness

At the penny drought,

my soul begins to pout

and frown and toil,

till hard tears fall to the soil

O beyond the shattered hills I see,

scattered bones scattered bones of me,

tattered visages, tattered visages of myself

let the world see how I have become an elf.

By Kakraba Afful

The earth tastes suicidal,

we are living in fairy tales,

the mind has manufactured

garments from the air;

and created an eminent

spear fortress with the clouds

We have a spine helmet

on our heads,

and visions turn grim

with logty beliefs

of unexpected horror

Ignorance is the scaremonger,

telling the tales

that make reality rot

in cadavery

and a malodoury mentality

Things unseen,

mirages which have

bribed their way

into existence

by the felony of the eyes

Visions commit crime,

as they solicit

our thinking with lies

and fate stamps

an embargo

on open-mindedness.

By Kakraba Afful

My life,

built with the infrastructure of strife,

weds misfortune as a wife,

distress is the tattered flag

that declares me a hairless hag

The sun wilts,

my breathe even needs to walk on stilts,

my existence, so diluted and weak

I'm suffering from the virus of the unfortunately meek,

and with endeavours that rust,

faithlessness do I trust

power has eluded me,

my hands wither

and without much to see

does bravery quiver

Now my heart aches,

smiles abandoining my domain

as the sun's scorch rakes,

reveals my spine and reveals pain

on the cupboard, do cobwebs play

the rib exposure is the order of the day

For long, my soul wears braces,

stooping low and devoid of aces,

yelping now, I take slow paces,

to the land of withering faces.

By Kakraba Afful