He called himself a poet
Knowing his days were numbered
He shamelessly quintupled his shame.
What a shame!
When wind brought home his death
Instantly knowing not, pity rained
Before coming to learn of his game
Faking everything he ever did claim
His death for sure, he didn’t fake.
Yet his life and his death did justice cheat
Leaving all those trapped in his game maimed
Mol, Mol, Mol all fake dead or alive nothing has remained
Consciously he left that ‘E’ out of his name
A letter to have defined the spirit in him concealed
What other spirit could it be but that of a blemish
With criminal contamination acts, devilish!
Though humans shouldn’t judge
How can one face an act so horrendous?
Acts and life of lies leave none unmoved
And all would have it disapproved
As the world should his masters
From them he his trade learned
As the nation coffers they empty to fill theirs
And joining their crew he put on their feathers.
06-10/01/09
© Bill F NDI, 2010
