by Grandcestor* Deanne E Gwinn .
(*For definitions of these terms, see the glossary on the site

Their venomous vulturous visages hover
above every avenue you can discover
with faces voracious and morals long shriveled,
their manners reproachless, but motives uncivil,
craving your substance.

It’s murder.

Like crows will conspire to dismember the songbird,
these pirates cast lots to lay claim to your strong words,
then silent as sharks circling scent of success
spread slime and distortion, distraction and stress,
carving your substance.

It’s murder.

With skillful pretense of unselfish concern
weave webs of deception, so those who discern
what’s evil from good are completely confused,
agree to stand by and allow the abuse
crunching your substance.

It’s murder.

About Deanne E. Gwinn

Writer: screenplays, fiction, poetry
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