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Brewton Standard



by David S. Smith
May 22, 2004

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Midst the shade of the willow trees
A shadow cowers secretly.
Crouching in anticipation,
He eyes the passing congregation
For a sacrificial lamb.

Then by chance a lingering soul
Draws closer to the shadow?s goal.
Driven by his savage passion,
He rapes and kills without compassion
The innocence he steals.

And the life is gone suddenly
With the echoes of her muffled pleas.
His anguished soul is finally free
From the guilt of his obscenities
In the private hell he dwells.

Sated on his lustful feast
He lingers momentarily.
Reveling in his supremacy,
He gloats upon his fiendish deed
And the power that he wields.

Now the night is closing in;
His demonic queen embraces him.
Her cold fingers titillating,
He surrenders to her invitation.
A barren womb she yields.

Barking hounds and voices trespass
The sanctuary of his raptures.
Drunk upon their travesty,
Deluding stealth, he quickly flees
The darkness he's revealed.

His heart is filled with ecstasy;
Corruption rules authority.
Wired to the right connections,
A society without conviction
And an arrogance of wealth.

Prejudicial repercussions
Purify the dispossession.
Reputations are laid to rest
On the grave of lost innocence
And justice that has fled.

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Teachings of a Three Year Old... Turned Tyke,
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