The Date

in #poem6 years ago

loco-178092__480.jpg

Even when the deed has been done
The disposed gloves of the surgeon
Still hover around in testament.

Even the low sounds
Of the executioners metal boots
With time, they'll re-echo
The other side where silence is forced.

Even their powerful gate
Became as very stubborn as a roaring lion
That will kill anything for a meal.

And here we are, patiently waiting
Upon the conscience of time
The overseer of all truths
To pass judgement
On the looters of our heritage.

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