The Game of Our Old

I was maimed,

In the act of being  tamed.

Afterwards I was named

A monkey to gratify their fame,

And ’twas just that same

Who came to our land without blame

Leaving later, bold in fame

Strong, and powerful in claim

In words so simple and plain

they won against us, their game.

My Valour And Smile

He gave me Life and made me smile

An undaunted bliss that goes beyond the Nile

I messed around for a very long while

 

But,

He, never remembered any of those as crime

Like in the sight of a blind, an act in mime

And He gave His son for free, costing me no dime

 

So,

I, am here free today, because of what he gave

And I walk chest up high, for I, am no more a slave

He lives with, and in me, and that has made me brave

My Reason

I shed costly tears
Not because of your death.
But the unknown fears
That grips me, like a child before birth.

I constantly and repeatedly cry
Not only because I’ll miss you
But how hard I’ll try
To find another role model too.

I am engulfed in pain
Not because of what I’m to lose
But the future I’m not to gain
With you my guide and my muse.

I’m choked with bitterness
Not because you couldn’t be saved
But the freedom and happiness
To be held-up like we’re enslaved

Rest In Peace Daddy.

To H. E. Prof. John Evans Attah Mills

His Excellency J. E. A. Mills

With a heavy heart.
I lay my words to rest,
As tears rain from my heart.
where i keep the very best.

Tears from my eyes i hide
That the wicked may not see.

For tears cannot wash away
The fears of spears that pointed
At our ears ready to tear them
Before you led us to veer away
That path.

Your calm courage
That shook the great foundations
Of our motherland Ghana in silence
Echoed across the Mediterranean,
Her siblings and all.
That even the death heard,
Your silence voice in their sight.

Tears cannot wash away the pain,
Sorrow and fond memories of your days.
As tears cannot wash away the flicking
Images of a mother from the mind of a child.

Mother I call you
Because you had a tender heart
Like that of a mother,
never too quick to yell and punish.

Father I call you
Because your words acted with power
Like that of a father,
Living by your words so dear to you.

My Martyr, R.I.P.

His Excellency J. E. A. Mills
R.I.P

The Reason for His Passion

He Freely Gave His Life For You

why is it?
that He took my place,
And instead, gave me Grace.
An unmeritted favour,
That granted me valour.

Why is it?
That I lived my life in dirt,
Filled daily with evil flirt.
Yet He never stopped at my filth,
But went on to forgive my guilt.

Why is it?
That He laid aside His majesty,
So awesome and powerful in modesty.
To pull us out of our sinful depth,
By paying the cost to all its debt.

Wy is it?
That He freely gave His life,
To heal the Father’s strife.
A price that cost His Blood,
to be shared abroad like flood.

His Blood cries every Hour: Never loosing Its Power

He died a sorrowful shameful death,
Just as a stable recorded His Birth.
Not to be listed in the hall of fame,
As a winner in the greatest bloody game.

He carried, and was hanged on cross,
That you and I will be able to cross.
From the broad way of unrighteousness,
To be crowned with Him in righteousness.

This is the reason,
Reuniting the Father’s creation
With Him in one Nation.
The Reason for His passion

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