Thursday, September 30, 2010


He stands as a giant within the thorns.

Superfluous robes decked in ornaments of wealth.

At the centre of the empire of evil.

His method is subtle, his power is immense.

He holds sway over the hearts of his children of pride.

The thorns hide the monstrosity of his veiled facade.

Pulling strings over those bedazzled by his ornaments.

He is the brother of the Persian Lord.

Ruling over the rulers, receiving worship of men.

Taking and giving as he wills.

The people are in a daze.

A mist enshrouding the thorns over the palace.

False flowers adorn the opulence of the throne room.

Where the smell of the dead is masked altogether.

And rolling stones gather the tar.

A Hand from the skies shows the way.

A people of destiny step in the fray.

But alas, they have no weapon of choice.

Into evil's his hands they fall.

Taken lawful captive by ignorance.

So then the Maker comes.

The people of destiny he saves.

And He showed them a greater way.

And tells of two paths to glory.

That a nation might be saved.

Then the ruler bows altogether

For his corruption has been exposed

And his armour rendered of no effect

By the cry and sighs of the obedient.

And the power of earth's maker.

Let the spiritual gird their loins.

For this battle is the Lord's.

The minds of great men are already captive.

To the ruler of this present darkness.

In the flesh shall no man prevail.

To the faithless, shall not be rewards.

To the discerning shall be great victory.

The Scepter is now aloft.

For the chosen in this generation.

So let it be written, so let it be done.


George Ashiru, Patriot.

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