Fair?
Ashes slashes bashes
Boom, blasts to blame
All dudes and dinettes dash
As the flames
Flicking, felt on the skin
All its humor served to patrons who were in.
Deep, deep
Lies souls in the black sand
All the “after people” peep
Stand,
But the black soot dress
Made for coal
Worn when they, terror, reach their goal.
Blasts, bang!
Bleach, the walls, black
Let him hang
Like lovers we lack
Stealing a crime,
But blame without a case
Cannot erase
Only a fair fight, law at its prime.
poem by John Wake
Added by Poetry Lover
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