Impunity Wears a Wristwatch

gray0328

 

A shadow at the kitchen table,

Spoon clinking in the dark.

War smells its way home;

Peace, a bandage on the wrong wound.

 

Soft footsteps of a cat burglar

In the antechamber of power.

History's thick thumb smudges,

Both the guilty and the saint.

 

Smoke rings rising from a gun barrel,

Kiss the lips of a silent God.

Pigeons roost on statues,

While the dead discuss the weather.

 

Irony, with a straight face,

Serves supper—bullets and bread.

The clock ticks in the rubble,

Impunity wears a wristwatch.

 

Gloved hands weave war and peace,

In a loom of broken bones.

A child's eyes, ripe with questions,

As the world counts its coins.

  • Author: gray0328 (Offline Offline)
  • Published: April 26th, 2024 09:56
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 6
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors


Comments +

Comments1

  • 2781

    To me belongs vengeance, and recompense; Their foot shall slide in due time:



To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.