Poetry

Face of terror was
chasing you in the dreams and
voilence made you sick of the
evil designs.
We must unpack our grief.
Hurts were huddled under the smiles;
times were stypefying.

I grieve for the dead
prophet, spread – eagled on road.
It had been a memorial death
fighting the ugly machinations
the days had planted.
A calculated murder of mighty truth
had taken place.

Again a flaming head
seeks revenge
violence does not cease.
The greed was the essence.
The town was full of howling.
There was civil war amongst
the wailing windows.
My heart aches,
I did’t belong to this
profile of naked wolves.