Morality of Life

Stepping stones

And blood on bones,

The way the river flows downhill,

Because of might,

The eye is right,

But that does not condone the thrill.


How can a one

Make the deed done?

As though it is the only way

Out a dire place,

A tight-cornered face,

Come on, detective, save the day!


The light is dim

Along a line of sin,

Where some men overstep the mark;

A fleeting chance,

A dangerous dance,

In the midst of the dark.


They don’t talk about

The measly shout,

That last breath from her lips,

Instead set out to find

The man, unkind,

Who snatched life from her fingertips.

The End

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