The web of lies

Who is this man

to decide who lives and who dies

 

The black-gloved hand

the delicate carving

the skinny boy with dreads

had been homeless and starving

 

The tall, dark figure

moves away

the last breath from the boy

had been taken this day

 

The boy was young

not more than fourteen

But wise, he had been

from all he had seen

 

The figure above

had shed no tears

Compassion was lost

from this work o'er the years

 

With a sigh and a frown

the figure turns to go

to the leader who paid him

to bring himself this low

 

Down another alley

the gloves are tossed

The cops won't look hard

'cause the boy's no big loss

 

20 March 02