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Shared hypocrisy

a slant of knives

glimmer in moonlit shadows,

a swathe of hidden

secrets,

nothing gained for

the elitist but fated prose.

Talking stops

the moment haunting

begins,

a scream so

close its silence deafens -

A warning sir if you will

for sat on laurels alone

provokes an isolated chill.

A stillness of the mind,

a meditation helps,

focus

steal your will

Do right by this,

Let not the mighty

business bribe fool you

for a strike,

for a strike upon

a joyous night bleeds nations,

and all hope

is gone.

Michael J Waite. 2^nd April 2009 0322hrs.