The day I opened a Bible was a tale of two cities,
The best and the worst of times,
I could no longer lay back and leave the sand in my hourglass,
watch the days of my life drift,
while logans lurk,
wolverine around the brook in the forest,
looking to claw the hope away,
make a ridge between the family I claimed to love.
There seems to be harmony in passions,
But not even Timmy knows which spell Tabitha will cast to cause more division.
The continent of the canine always barking with it's mouth open,
now we are fat with corruption,
preying on the piety of poverty,
the cultish land with a superstition,
fearful never able to hear the mission.
We hold fast but not to the word,
starving ourselves from understanding,
traditions trump truth,
as we defecate more dangerous nonsense into our ear holes,
perhaps we're better off,
we have some peace and food,
we don't have the rat race,
maybe I've been too sheltered,
failing to truly discern the state of the land that houses me.
I couldn't even see that my house was burning but it was cool if it was watered down by a firetruck .
I used to think that every African knows Jesus. Sometimes I act like I don't.
Fire truck reference is a silly satire at zambian government