Abused

The charge. The verdict. The sentence.
The trials of political debasement.
Hinged around by wealth that caused
their power to become a jest - misused.
Cruel laughter to absolve the tension.
Followed by the gore of henchmen.
Paid for by another youth too full
of ancestors of cruelty. Hidden in
the passage of decrees. Stamped
and sealed - their waxen craft was
yet left unrevealed to innocence.

The FBI. The CIA.
The eyes and ears of those
who claimed the power.
Terrorists that sought release
from all the empty hours
thus decreed. A flash, a flame.
The fear-filled fires. Their living
hell that never knew of hours
reckoned as their souls were taken.
Believing that within their minds
the toll remained yet unforsaken -
only unto them.

Never willing to amend the wrong
they did to others. Their basic power
hidden deep, instinctual and mean.
While there, inside their sleep,
the demons roamed. Insisting
that they'd never find their home.
Hearth grown cold as all their bold
achievements brought yet more
of horror and of agony - always unto
others, not to them.

The charge. The verdict. The sentence.
The blame and pain of trials of political misuse.
Hinged around by wealth that caused
their power to become a jest - abused.
Using sex to score the final blow.

The charge. The verdict. The sentence.
The trials of political misuse.
Hinged around by wealth that caused
their status to become a jest - abused...

? Michaelette ?

4/1/2004
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .