LEAN CATTLE .

If pain is talked,
He is pain
With a metal apron
Roasted on the fire of men.

If pain paintings were black,
No man would have seen after his sight.
From frozen to dreaded,
No thorn hurts him anymore...
Drill a sword, he laughs even more.

He is a man in mask,
With the presence ghost's dillemma,
For hunger and anger reign with him.
His crown, the empire season
Seek him through greed
He will greet you in speed
Like bolts of bullet
Throwback from metal helmets


©Fuseini Dipantiche Mohammed Naporoo Kamaldeen Shitobu (Creative thinker)