Poemssaaaa

In chambers perfumed with plundered grace,
they crown themselves with the people’s face,
a masquerade of virtue, pale and thin,
while rot composes symphonies within.

O crocodiles in tailored dignity,
you glide through laws like shadows through the sea,
your scales are stitched from promises betrayed,
your thrones are built where fragile hopes decayed.

You sip from chalices of stolen spring,
each drop a village, each gleam a suffering,
and toast to power with a silver tongue
that sings of peace while justice stays unsung.

Beneath your reign, the alleys learn to weep,
where hunger hums its lullabies to sleep,
and mothers trade their dreams for crumbs of dawn,
while you count stars on ceilings you have drawn.

Yet even stone remembers every scar,
each whispered plea that traveled not too far;
the winds collect the cries you cast aside
and braid them into storms you cannot hide.

For when the flood of truth begins to rise,
it will not heed your polished alibis—
and all your gilded scales will turn to clay,
as light reclaims what darkness stole away.

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Good Friday Reflection

This Good Friday, may we be
reminded that even in the quiet
and difficult moments, love,
faith, and hope are always
at work.

Trust the process, keep your
heart strong, and believe
that brighter days are coming. 🤍
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