Heard resounding thru the air,
Where the wind is howling.
For the cons of thieves and charmers,
Snuffed off in her prime.
Who can show
Forbearance of a greater measure?
Who can know
How long we will endure their kind?
Eyes like theirs,
Cold and constant is the gaze.
Straight into the eyes of children,
Drawing on their shine!
Who can see
The painting of the stalker’s treasure?
Who can hear
The nocturne of the siren’s whine?
Wearing fast on the patience of a nation –
Litter, scum and slime!
Must not again again reflect the pleasure
Have rendered to the Lords of crime –
For justice – while there still is time . . .
© 2019 A. Pope