Posts Tagged ‘Crime’

I am chased,
By hounds in white and blue,
My dress torn in the panic,
They slaver monstrously,
I know not why,
I only performed my nightly dance,
An energetic noctural song,

It was a frenetic dance I’ll admit,
Sensual and rabid all at once,
All rondos are,
I know my dance partner was somewhat loud,
He was inebriated and untried after all,
He was a simple drunken sap,
But I’ve elevated him to art,

My dance partner fell down,
Maybe the dogs want to help him,
He shrieked wicked ecstacy,
He painted the stage in such crimson,
A scent of iron and sweat,
With my terminal flourish,
The rondo of knives,

Each step punctuated with a jab,
Each stab releasing ribbons,
As he collapsed wide-eyed,
I asked him if I was a beautiful dancer,
No answer,
My knife applauded at least,
My biggest fan,

The applause almost dampened the sirens.

Whack,
The brisk night fell on this shed,
As did the sun set on this feeble soul,
Three whacks,
And two more,
This room has become an abattoir,

The axe is thirsty,
Forgot why I started,
But I may as well finish,
Where are the others?
In the house?
Lets paint some walls,

Can’t let any rudely escape,
Two in the master bedroom,
One in the smoking room,
Was there one in the children’s room?
The only witness that’ll remain,
Will be the moon,

The axe sings out,
Hatchet lullabies,
To those lucky victims,
Perhaps a few more chops,
Are just what the voices ordered.

These streets feed on the powerless,
The innocent girl needs saving,
She needs a hero,
A miscreant sought to mug her,
A comic book hero steps in,

He was a simple soul,
He liked comic books,
The release they obliged,
He was anemic yet kind,
He had known the role of the victim too long,

His room is a cathedral,
Albeit a messy one,
A monument to heroes and villains,
Of other worlds,
Legends in ink and colour,

Countless bibles to caped gods,
Titans in vivid costumes,
A host of impossible powers,
Strength unrivalled,
Paragons of virtue.

His idols,

Did he save her?
As it turns out,
The mugger did not fear his costume,
Two shots ring out,
A comic scrap fluttered away.

We are criminals,
We are dead men walking,
Smugglers and felons all,

A pall falls over our vessel,
A dark mist,
A palpable guilt,
As if the sea knows our illicit purpose,

A distant lighthouse stands guard,
Its light is our doom,
The tension is tangible,

The white coast is a reminder that we are outcasts,
The cliffs tell us we are doomed,
The chines call with a foil behind their backs,
The surf tries to drag us to the gallows,

Our vessel a prize for the law,
Our cargo a trophy for Customs,
The disquietude is discernible,

Waves lash at the hull like blades,
A far-off sentry spies us,
The sea knows,
The sea grins.

Smuggler

The scales of the judiciary are straining,
Sob stories and crocodile tears can tip them,
Lenient justice.

A nameless man kills many innocents,
But he has a wife and children,
Lenient justice.

An addict slits a barflys throat,
But she has a diseased mind,
Lenient justice.

A young bandit beats and robs an old crone,
But he has no home,
Lenient justice.

A cackling clown takes children away in his van,
But he is from a far away place,
Lenient justice.

A husband beats his wife to the edge of dying,
But he has friends in high places,
Lenient justice.

Lenient justice is the order of the day,
Criminals drink to their crimes,
While victims lament in their anguish,
The scales have tipped.

Justice

Should have stopped them,
Should have said something,
Should have stepped in,
Should have broke it up,
Should have told them no,
Should have stopped the blows.

I didn’t,
I stood by.

I didn’t defend her bones,
I didn’t shield her face,
I didn’t uphold her honor,
I didn’t guard her innocence,
I didn’t act as her guardian angel,
I didn’t save her soul.

I just watched,
I stood by.

Bystander

I never saw what killed me.
Never saw what turned me into a specter.
It may have been a bullet to the brain,
Scattering my skull.
It may have been a blade to the gut,
Spilling my insides.
It even may have been a garotte to my throat,
Silencing my breath.

Personal or otherwise,
It doesn’t really matter now,
I’m dead.
Plainly and categorically dead.
I end up in the same place.
The bodybag,
My very own ferry over the Styx.

My very own ferryman too,
A handsome oarsman in a high visibility robe.
Followed by an orchestra of sirens,
And a ultramarine light show.
It’s a dramatic journey.
I bled out hours ago.

The bodybag fulfills its purpose.
It has taken my safely over the Styx.
It has protected me from the burning rapids.
We reach our destination,
Together.
The morgue,
Also known as the underworld.

 

Bodybag