The Agony of my Voice

The sycamore rising on high,

Only to fall and break my sonorous voice,

How within me my heart sigh,

Yet, I couldn't make a noise.

My voice rising to fall again,

Would it bite the sting with nothing to gain?

Yet, I writhe in pain,

Like a panther struggling in vain. 

The cat, the rats it feigned to hunt,

Ran, chased, till its tail got burnt,

Falling off the cliff to bear the brunt,

But dragged a dog and pulled a stunt. 

My heart writhes in agony, 

Leaping for joy hidden in irony,

Could my voice have been charged with felony?

My voice couldn't quell its cacophony.

The moon pleaded for my innocence,

But before the gate of righteousness,

The cat took to its heels indeed,

As it never measure to an ounce in deeds.

My voice passed unapplauded,

Filled with anguish but not malignancy,

My face covered in tears of blood,

My voice an epitome of transparency. 

By Akinbode Oluwaseun M.

Styled Oxygen

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