Nobody warned us about "The Lord of the Flies"
Winter just gone, with green in the air.
Ball bats came out, but children's toys lie.
This game is death; and you're 'it' my dear.
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I fear for you, but I must do my job.
Switch off, switch on...my paperwork's done.
My friend somewhere, lost in this mob.
But what's to be found, when the cavalry's come?
.
And now my anger sleeps like a cat.
Half lidded, dreamless, silent I wait.
For the trigger to pull,
And hammer slide back.
Releasing my own version of simmering hate.
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(Photo found on net. From a series by the wonderful Damien Loeb, a favourite artist of mine.)
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My computer wasn't working when I wrote this, so I am posting it later. For a friend, who lived to tell and the person who made it so. You are both so brave).
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