Admonish nomads for fellow travelers and rough sleepers in a pinch
compassionate mother holds a butcher's cleaver ready to sever wrists
crying only brought fear to her attention as she proceeded to ask
obliging a small boy to hate the maternal as he began to flinch
under their house, their rules, parents never wonder about consequences
nobody asks themselves if their actions behind closed doors allows for lists
to be written with acts and dates, even timestamps as accountants drink flask
alcohol like fathers hell-bent on pugilist rounds with small boys, their sons
boys lose their sense of fun, acting out of distress, souls crushed, pinned to fences
if dysfunction does not beg the question for some accountability
left for posterity to judge the violence perpetrators forgot
imagine to defend your life, apologize, for lack of clarity
to live with this burden for over fifty years, vicious circles of thought
yet, the clouds never lift, life has no sense of fun, love weighs two hundred tons
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