When I Writhe With Joy At My Low
When I writhe with joy at my low
I long painfully for a heart of gold
Reminding me of the days of old
When time and tides were so slow.
But those days with wings have run away
Like a cheetah fleeing from the unseen
In a quest to searching for the unknown
And after many miles comes back in dismay.
Who will hear my cry at my lowly state?
Whose ears will believe my folktale?
Shall I put my birthright up for sale
Before the world would know I’m straight?
The tunnel seems longer than I thought
This phase will Passover that I was taught.
Bard Tosin Morakinyo