Progenitor Ghost phiz

They scurried into the deadlock of space
But wouldn’t last the jiggles of time
Rusty chains on the broken hands
Of the fathers that suffered before them
They can’t lie low the swamp on the faxed pate
Of their god-like head
And the chopped sleuths of the agbalumo fruits
Or the bluntness of the legendary knives
Nor the calabash muffled with myrrh
They can’t mute the beats
The threads that joins our souls with theirs
The gong that slouched it’s way to defend us
They scream and wipe like onion liquids
The utterances which accompany them
Between tempered fire that spreads through
They shook in despair saying
We never repent