Follower

My dream had died
To pick up arms and cause change
Was what made me sleep at night,
Why air passed through my nostrils,
Why life made sense.

To pick up arms,
Spill blood
Wreak havoc
Establish my tyranny
With an iron fist.

Uphold the truth
With more mind than might
Till my ways become clear
Free of crimson, and
Become a virtuous politician.

Victor Oyedele