The Jury.

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                                       Vacant eyes looked down
                                          in an unforgiving stare,
                                   Innocence denied its freedom.

                                  What now brave man? One must
                                  but see their pain, trophies from
                            your violent past, art has no comparison.

                         Rusting fusils a symbiotic insult to the game
                         of waste. May the howling winds remind you
                        nor thoughts alone be left devoid of preditors.


                        Tell tale signs of hot and cold on the roof tops
                         told, icicles transfused their droplets from a
                                                weakened sun,

                    But soon, these veins of life solidified, and as the
                 heart, a resting place it found, the longest hibernation
                                                  had begun.

          With weighted eyes, eternity became the face of in-expression.