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Nov 2018
By: Cedric McClester

There’s blood on his hands
But justice demands
Having the proof
And he’s been aloof
Those who did the deed
Have a greater need
They want to survive
To stay alive

So it’s absurd to expect
Them to connect
The dots to the puzzle
They’re sufficiently muzzled
And won’t place the blame
On Prince What’s-his-name?
Though  it’s hard to miss it
He’s clearly complicit

So the stench lingers on
The conclusion's foregone
That he placed the order
And condoned the slaughter
Of his journalistic critic
And just to be analytic
In his position
He can't stand opposition

His father is ailing
With health clearly failing
And the throne is in sight
To his son’s delight
So he’s biding his time
While hatching a crime
That’s so barbaric
The result may be pyrrhic





Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.
Written by
Cedric McClester  New York, New York
(New York, New York)   
344
 
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