The Death of Tradition

Thu, 11/10/2016 - 13:46 -- ASUS

Still images of the past,
sinking into time,
it was once a vast land of minds and acts,
until a stranger called west stole her soul and heart,
beautiful was her mask,
made from mahogany's bark,
Old and young would dance to her song in the dark,
Sometimes underneath the bright moon light,
Sometimes by burning leaves and grass,
It was said that her blood was made of brass,
Her body frame structured with slivered glass,
Her organs and vitals made of stone dust,
Of her kind, she was first and last,
No rivals, just the society of tourists,
and the race of prehistoric arts,
Her breathe was the life of mesopotamia,
Her tears gave birth to the rivers of Babylonia,
It was foretold that if she died, the whole world would fade to the void,
She was adored by her by her four sister's,
Till they all grew bitter,
Because their lovers admired her,
Conspired to elope into oblivion with her,
Their red Kilimanjaro secret birthed strife and tribal wars,
A family thorn apart, bodies that fell to the earth fossilized to black gold,
Their bloodline metamorphosed into carbon rocks,
Their descendants inherited this promised land,
But culturally denied their fathers land,
Ancient ways they were taught to incline,
Forsoke for mirrors and strawberry wine,
Some still believed they traded away their pride,
Whilst some say they were robbed of it by the spirits that be,
Because they forgot to sacrifice to the hills,
Their sick and injured, the ground refused to heal
A curse Cancer would flee,
A smudge the Sun could not reveal,
Their vision was blind,
the belly they used as their mind,
As I was blessed with the confusion
To ponder this dilemma,
Of a foolish wise King who
Consumed his people,
Thus leaving a strand bronze hair
Corroding by the fungi of ignorance,
A brine of despair, watering the seeds of sorrow,
That would grow tomorrow,
dividing the human thought
Into the developed and developing,
Where the margin was built on the survival struggle,
A fallacy offered in place of the dream,
destiny swallowed by greed, they
Failed to see that they we're drifting into a past,
that was drifting into a genetically modified cloned future,
A creature that will not short live the lifetime of a shooting Star,
Because We as a people,
Have left the branch for the leaf's,
Rumors were they were Esau himself,
Fell by his Father's hand on the sheep's Hyde,
Spared to be reborn by the voice of his Father's words,
As decades of decomposing civilization built on sodium chloride,
Leaves a toxic pollution of value decay,
It's only right that these questions be read,
Who amongst My people should be blamed?
Moving forward with our minds face, facing backwards on the ridge line of the darkness,
Where the thin divided between identity and humanity, is a plate of red pottage,
A new race of mankind at the tower of Babel,
Where the new religion is the loss of morality,
Because the weight of tradition was placed on the spine of a new born baby.

The Death of Tradition. A.SuS

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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