WHAT PRICE LIFE?
Posted: Wed Feb 27, 2013 8:14 am
WHAT PRICE LIFE?
They stand apart and wait and watch for crumbs to come their way
notice the bloodstained mattress on the ground,
a soft and subtle murmuration drifts in from the crowd,
their voices hushed, respectful, no one speaks their thoughts out loud .
There’s ways of being foul and doubtful they would make one proud.
They watch white coveralls move slowly round.
The blue and white tape flutters, there’s the merest hint of breeze.
Dew drops festoon iron railings on the strand.
Two matchbox covers rest beside the blanket covered mound,
one brown vessel of solitude so far is all they’ve found.
Faint heard, soft susurration and the footsteps of the gowned
searching for hidden traces in the sand .
Murder was mentioned – horror, shock, was seen crossing their faces.
What violence now they wondered was in play
within their small towns boundaries? This beach haven of peace,
with population very small, no need here for police
till this. Surely their crime rate was not destined to increase?
They’d never seen the likes of this today.
Were drugs the reason? Who could tell? They turned up everywhere,
but surely this young bloke from drugs was clean?
He came from a good family, and most folks knew him well.
But still that is no guarantee and these days, can one tell?
They shook their heads and walked away, that thought had broke the spell.
So sad they said – he was only nineteen.
The story made the headlines, and left most folks devastated.
A tale of murder, drug running and vice.
The victim was no innocent, a reptile in snake skin
who had a swag of charges. He knew police and they knew him
Police caught the perp who killed him, who committed mortal sin
and two young blokes who would not take advice
will now forfeit their lives to pay the price.
Maureen Clifford © 01/13
They stand apart and wait and watch for crumbs to come their way
notice the bloodstained mattress on the ground,
a soft and subtle murmuration drifts in from the crowd,
their voices hushed, respectful, no one speaks their thoughts out loud .
There’s ways of being foul and doubtful they would make one proud.
They watch white coveralls move slowly round.
The blue and white tape flutters, there’s the merest hint of breeze.
Dew drops festoon iron railings on the strand.
Two matchbox covers rest beside the blanket covered mound,
one brown vessel of solitude so far is all they’ve found.
Faint heard, soft susurration and the footsteps of the gowned
searching for hidden traces in the sand .
Murder was mentioned – horror, shock, was seen crossing their faces.
What violence now they wondered was in play
within their small towns boundaries? This beach haven of peace,
with population very small, no need here for police
till this. Surely their crime rate was not destined to increase?
They’d never seen the likes of this today.
Were drugs the reason? Who could tell? They turned up everywhere,
but surely this young bloke from drugs was clean?
He came from a good family, and most folks knew him well.
But still that is no guarantee and these days, can one tell?
They shook their heads and walked away, that thought had broke the spell.
So sad they said – he was only nineteen.
The story made the headlines, and left most folks devastated.
A tale of murder, drug running and vice.
The victim was no innocent, a reptile in snake skin
who had a swag of charges. He knew police and they knew him
Police caught the perp who killed him, who committed mortal sin
and two young blokes who would not take advice
will now forfeit their lives to pay the price.
Maureen Clifford © 01/13