Sentinel Poetry: Expression Warehouse

The Acolyte

The Splash of her milk
Bakes an innuendo
With the bolt of the Dodan

an innuendo of fear
fear of sorrow
sorrow of death

Tears for lovers lost and lives snuffed
For destinies reconstructed
For raped soul of Old men

Blind to the Sanskrit
On an esoteric thread of deceit
She is embraced
With sanguine speed

By shadows of noon, on her brooding
banks
She ensnares all to her grapevine,
Of death
Laying wreaths of bleached roses
entwined
With the cheer of red mushrooms
On every digit
Which in a fury of Lagosian rush
Bathed in the milk of her bosom
--- her acolytic canal of death

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