Corruption in Black

By Cliff Lake

 

Corruption in Black

 

My sweet Justice,

How thy bank account calls,

Hungering for the reddened, dripping payoff,

Required to silence the conscience.

 

Your fumbling opinion,

A retreat into cowardice and mania,

Protects thee from the wrath of fiends,

Insulates thee from loss of revenue from the same.

 

What thick skin thee hath grown,

What calluses hath thee applied to thy scruples,

For thy march to the drumbeats

That sound only of death.

 

Thee hath allowed thy black robes

To try to cover thy sins,

And thy service to corruption.

Thee art stained and putrid beneath thy wrappers!

 

Now art thee exposed!

Thy robes cover not!

Thee art seen by all:

Thee art nefarious, rotted, defiled, foul!

 

A stench rises from thy chambers:

Death intermingled with shame,

Gore fused with guilt,

Thee art befouled and unclean.

 

Thee hath numbered thy days, fools!

Thee hath abandoned this nation,

Thee hath accepted thy thirty pieces,

And thee will despair at thy end.

 

For thee hath certified thy doom:

Disgrace in public,

Exposure of all,

And the inevitable de-frocking of the tainted.

 

Thee accepted blood money.

Thee sold thy station.

Thee took the risk.

Thee will accept the consequence.

 

Cliff Lake 6/14/2024

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

Location: Washington, DC, USA

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