Quietly

They killed them quietly.
One after another, on their knees.
The tainted silence swept their lives away.
Their pain was barely noticed by the crowd
of soldiers gathered in applause.
The shame they caused became a molten shroud.
It never mattered if the truth were spoken.
The words of their conviction all lay broken,
battered into bits and pieces of their endless lies.
The condemnation came from up on high.
Judgment made by those who craved supreme.
She watched it done as if from in a dream.
Compassion wasn't present.
They had barred it at the door.
They took her things, but still, they wanted more.
They sucked her soul out, laid it on the floor.
And then they killed her quietly.
The tainted silence whispering her plea.
They killed them quietly.
Locked in their houses with the curtains drawn.
Assaulted by the evil of a billion demons' spawn.
Too tired now to fight it anymore.
Weakened by the bitter blasts
that rang out from the past.
A never-ending nebulae of killing gas
that drifted through their every breath.
Unseen but ever felt within
the borders of their skin.
The cancer fed from urban garbage bins.
Afraid to change the range of their
obsessive attitudes. Turning to a mood
of doom that willed itself alive in every pore.

And then it killed them quietly.
As the government engaged in-sanity.
The kings and queens were modeling
the latest outerwear. The pawns
could only seem to sit and stare
at all the evil filling up the very air
they had to breathe. To think it lived
across the world became the worst
of all their fantasies.
To try again. To fail miserably.
Power-shocked, the continents
would slip into the sea.
As waves of rage tore everything apart.

And then it killed them quietly.
They never could imagine how it
started to invade their private space.
They watched the news, still hoping that
a stroke of grace would come to set them free.
The sacrosanct had fled democracy.
The laws were turned and twisted
in the favor of the few.
They had no lead to follow
and they knew not what to do.
The sins of mankind never died
in agony upon a cross.
Instead, a gentle beauty had been lost.
As the powerful drew strength from
all the pain of mini-deaths upon a cross
where they still nailed all the best.
Blessed are the meek, or so they claim.
Even as in time and space, they lay
the awesome blame of pain on them.
Quietly, in greedy spending sprees...

? Michaelette ?

4/20/2005
Copyright© 2005 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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