Ripped Apart

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Photo by Hasan Almasi, Unsplash


What hands are these/ Reddened
By complicity/ A baying silence
In the shadow of the mob

What greed is ineffectually condemned
In the safety of self-righteous handwringing

What thoughts pass unnoticed
In muted prayers
Of "Take any that Spare me"

What will is signed
Behind closed oaken doors of minds fraught
With unease and laden with the roaring of guilt

And whence comes the day
With the dogs at the door
What cats will slip on velvet paws
Out the back door into oblivion

And what birds will succumb
To the tragedies they foretold in their morning chants

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