Black Sheep Poem by Kayanja Ronald Edwin

am no student of art
but paint with the strokes of my heart
at the beat of its drum
the blood on my arm
dripping from it's fist,
in a dance at a feast,

a bonfire, a hollow moon,
a reaper's scythe, a large spoon,
digging with my nails,
to blur my trails,
that when the sainthood comes,
to bleed my palms,

I stand justified
my ego satisfied
in a pouring rain
that eases my pain
when my soul rampaged in vengeance
and seeks not the house of repentance