In times forgotten, in memories now old
Where stories of love still remained untold,
There was a soul that had wandered far and alone
Trying to find a way for his sins to atone.
Lies were his friend, they hid his name.
They hid his past, they hid his shame.
Bodies had died and faces burned away,
But murders are death and alive for more than a day.
The pen writes the stories, the pages hide the cause.
The gun does the shooting and the pride hears the applause.
The bodies are all hidden but the stench lingers long.
Where does a man with a past find a home to belong?
© 2018, Danny Kemp All rights reserved.