My True Thoughts

THE ULTIMATE

 

THE ULTIMATE

BY 

HELEN CONSTANTINE 

 

 Touched by the torrid times, we can’t efface

We steadfastly strive, in heartfelt chase

For precious peace and pious grace

 

Sorrow soars, for the gallant young and brave

Who freely gave, without thought to gain

 Values sought and bought, yet quickly slain

With hopes and dreams, that’s now engraved

On growing, grieving graves

 

You who walk upon the land

 From whence they came

Should hang your heads

 in woeful shame

 

You cast the darkest shadow where you stand

Your souls are neither that, of beasts nor man

 

You breathe the air, where lived a life,

That strove for peace, not futile strife

 

Your brutal bile and blood stained hands

That slew the sheep now slay the lamb

 

 © Copyrights  reserved Helen Constantine 2009

 

SHELTERED SHAME

by

HELEN CONSTANTINE

 

On erratic rounds through doors, corridors

And hidden dark corners

She creeps about, by day and by night

Peeping and listening, well out of sight

 stalking her victims, who recoil in fear and fright

Or in due course, somehow take flight.

 

Cloaked in her perfectly woven facade

She's forever here, there and everywhere

Conducting some so called kindness

That's neither here nor there

And clearly insincere 

 

 This renowned  covert ringleader

Of a coustic rancid clan

Is at every beckon call

However, when truly needed

She's no where, no where at all

 

She patiently await, apples

To flounder, fade and fall from the tree

Then pursue some new quarry, in ease

And  perverse delight

Taking the greatest of pleasure

In yet another unequal fight

 

She's the perfect tactician, the essence of perfection

In fact, none has had the courage to say

This nifty do-gooder  is about to devour

Another vulnerable gullible prey

 

Still this vile, pompous predator

Who raids the living, dying and dead

Often lying lifeless, in a cold and lonely bed

Or where they sadly slid, sat or fell

Remains well fed

 

Time and again I've heard it cautiously whispered

And quietly said?

"Oh God, if only that b....., would do us all a favour

 And just drop dead"

 

Nonetheless, they  remain in fear and dread?

Hoping and praying she'll be dragged out instead

Ranting, raging and screaming

Leaving claw marks and scratches

On walls, carpets, concrete, asphalt, and clay

Through doors, corridors and dark corners

Along her noxious way.

 

 But who's to tell, if long after they've

Properly carted her away

Tearing the hair from her head

Her ghost won't be haunting

Doors, corridors and dark corners

As they sleep, peacefully in bed

 

Copyright by Helen Constantine July 2010

SHELTERED SHAME BY Helen Constantine

Edvard Munch

Screem 2 (Skirk) 1893-1910

Oslo