With a plastacine face
they design against grace
their gifts to abuse
the temptation too great

my pupils dilate
as my sight I re-choose
I pause at the gate
do pupils die late ?

upon this I peruse
a student of fate
as I'm stroking the gate
and murdering blues

will I murder them too
the people I hate
or succumb to my fate
and heal them anew

the peace i see
is a smiling man
happy to toil through the day

so far and away
the task at hand
his mind from thought ever free

the peace i hear
is a song on the air
from the throat of a woman unseen

her notes they do glean
of secrets so fair
caught by my languishing ear

continued below

as i sit at the bar
skimming over the news
some chatter, some babble
a bubble, from t'rabble
tries to invade my recluse

but it washes right over
like so much water
flushing away mental poos

thank god for assaults on pockets of peace
they remind me
that violence will lose