Four thirty pm and not a place to be.
Twiddling my thumbs like I’m waiting for glee.
When a sharp strike is cast down from the sky.
Biting air I try to reconsider all things that made me shy;
Funnel the efforts and mount my defences.
Quiet is but a period to prepare pretenses.
Nine fifteen and I’m totally lost.
Whatever is the payment, I lack the cost.
With versions of cruelty ready in the wings.
Tonight we will dine and feast as if we are high kings;
Opulence grafted into the minds of vermin.
As we stand we realise we are undeserving.
Two ten am and its time to go.
You would not understand why that is so.
Mistakes were made with contracts in blood.
No I never considered about whether there was a should;
Greed wrapped tight and to it I swore.
Now stop the questions before the closing of this door.
Too late, its been slammed right shut.
Key in the lock twisted and now you’ve been got.
Prized your addiction and built like a magnate.
Deep down you were always an ingrate.
Siphoning monies never meant for your hand.
For your crimes you will lose the ability to stand.
What say you, I don’t really care.
Yes it is best if you do little but stand there.
While judgement is rendered and so it can come rolling through.
Whatever you wished for its never coming true.
Stamp out those hopes and sell off your dreams.
For your debt is eternal now let me hear those screams.
Eighteen years later I’m still in the grave.
Digging and digging without a hint of brave.
For fortunes have turned and now I am resigned.
And no word spoken in passing is ever going to be kind.
I reaped what I sowed and so I understand.
Destruction was necessary for I perverted the land.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 