On The Rise

Dumped. Forgotten. Rotten
But the stench of death thereof
Tickles a hopeful breath of life
And the dreary death of dust
Now bears the horizon from which the new sun rises.
The fontomfrom shall sound thunderously
From many miles away
From the stillness of dawn to the rumble of mid-day
The people shall find the lost joy
And the land and its nuggets shall find their true owners
The atumpan shall be clung to
And beautifully drummed too.
The melodic atentenben shall echo and re-echo
Through the skies and through each meandering trail
And the winds shall sweep the message into the world
Through each breezy wail
Running through each city, town, village and hamlet
That all may know of the great rise…
The return of they that were lost to the tides.

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