Bondage
By Samuel Kodie
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With the passing of time,
We all hold on to a dime,
Moving sluggishly in slime,
Slow progress is not a crime.
The race is not to the swift,
Nor to those who lift,
But we forget that causes shift,
And between us and God, a rift.
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Drop yours and pick up my yoke,
Not plough my field with your Oak.
Foolishly and enticingly invoke,
Not knowing how to revoke.
Living a life full of turmoil,
Chosen and anointed with oil,
With a fire of passion to boil,
Only around one's finger, coil.
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Trapped in an eternal battle true,
Thinking we've been deserted; no hue.
Striving to live up in the blue,
Slime pulling us to earth like glue.
Proverbs 5:21-22 For the Lord sees clearly what a man does, examining every path he takes. An evil man is held captive by his own sins; they are ropes that catch and hold him.
In the race of life, excluding all external factors,
What ropes have you twined for yourself, O actors?
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