Published here at The Recusant
To deposit worthless paper in line,
To vacant faces in vacancy,
Gazing dead to those snide eyes.
Paper crumpled, hoarded and
Discarded, freshly printed,
Brittle and thin,
Granted little, as they can see.
That shall contain them in line.
Parents are wardens of their children.
Oh the deposition, suspicion!
Shall spirits be broken, like faces,
Bloodied and bandaged skulls and futures?
They and the windows shall -
Empathy not pity.
It is the cry of those and what they shall be -