We were living in an Eden.
It was beautiful, and we had all the honey in the comb.
It was a land flowing with honey and milk.
Our clothes were in silk.
What have us to say?
What a beautiful eden, our promised land.
Nature's choices kept us here.
It's for us to keep our band.
Here comes the wicked heart of men,
Wicked rulers, that are never ready to learn.
DESERTED, DESERTED, and all was DESERTED.
A beautiful eden,
DESERTED.
Our forest and fortress.
DESERTED.
Our hope and aspiration,
DESERTED.
Our promised lands.
DESERTED.
Our home and comfort,
DESERTED.
DESERTED, DESERTED and all was DESERTED.
Atlanta of tears float bodies, and washed them to ice where their mouth was freezed.
What happens next we can not place.
The wind of hunger blowed.
And must carry many to the great beyond.
Where is our promised land?
Where do we live whereas the eden have been DESERTED?
Where? Where?
I ask often time but no one to answer.
DESERTED, why would all be DESERTED.
Who will talk, where by the audible voices have been drowned in the Atlantic of corruption.
Should we continue in this DESERTED EDEN,
Must our forest and fortress be DESERTED.
I reserve my comments.
©️ Chukwunweolu Okoro 2025