Blindside
A gap of wit can blindside fit:
Dance of pretence speeds crafty kill,
Apt broken bits crash as pain splits;
Roar beyond sense as slander fills,
Keep what's left now in dusty dirt.
Blood and bones string such tragic stains,
Loss feels bereft in sorrow's hurts;
Inbound sharp flings turn rancid pain,
Now tragic lot feeds bitter fall;
Death comes too late when evil strikes,
See sad world rot in caustic gall;
Infringe these gates with nasty bytes,
Deed frees sure tact in morbid spheres,
Endows last act with pungent fear.
Leon Enriquez
25 February 2016
Singapore
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