Our Own Story Poem by Joshua Adeyemi

Perhaps i'll call this a story,
Or is it an hymn of worry?
Well, the latter or former, wither it may be,
The pair of course would have a theme,
Which my lips will on be fixed,
That I may touch all sensitive parts at least.
Here we go,
In story to flow:

In our own church,
Our pastors do allow some stuffs.
Before the service, he would
Call his core members-the tools,
At the back of the building
To tell each his own duty.
He would say as he pleased,
Perhaps as the spirit did him lead:
"'Sister Feyike, when I start preaching,
You'll stand and speak in tongue loudly,
That all who're fake like us,
Can be pushed into the foggery too at force'.
'Brother Mathew, during the prayer session,
When it seem as if the atmosphere is in
commotion,
Then you'll come out as one possessed
By some aggressive spirit, that're by absurdities carressed.
Then i'll say somethings i've practiced,
Then at that you'll confess like a demon, with
those words you've practiced.
And by that we'll have many bewitched,
And our tithe be increased.'
'Sister Lizzy, before the coming of Bro. Mathew,
When the atmorsphere in innocence grew
Into what she's not,
And we untie the untied knot.
When i say 'parakushasha',
Then you'll fall down in a flash,
And brother yemi and coe,
Would do as if to carry you, but please cope'.
Well, that's today's part of our game.
Others not mentioned should not forget their games"

So, our pastor dispatched them,
As the dusk dispatch the sun when she pricks her hem.

That's how we do in our own church,
Our own story is that: our pastor does funny stuffs!

How about your own pastor,
Is he also a clown, or an orator?
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