Strange World
I was summoned to the land of the mountain and cloudy gods; . Those that tamed our clan with a mirror, holy book and the sword; . Their darkness was overwhelmingly thicker than the covens of the black, . They smoke like a chimney to commune with their gods with garlic rods; . At their abode are gloomy angels that stand in ravens cloaks; . Those martyred for the mundane fleshy feat; . From their cleavage flows the source of murky greyish dip that hid the sun; . The darkness is at their horizon, hovering at the tip of every wreath; . I know It beckons... the end of the world, . The apocalypse have sucked out every tiny air with its wooden pipe, . Those pipes that connect our world beyond the path of redemption; . The air is gone, so choked we are yet the harvest of the world is yet to ripe; Poem by Olorunleke Odubote