May 2019
(1) Peter Holcusker was not a sinner
tanned and dried like a prune
eyes wandering, glinting the petty change in his pocket
cobblestone bruised knees and half-eaten bagels
denim overalls, probably stolen
the land was impolite
it's inhabitants no less
"who could love a *****", they hushed
aren't they the children of filth and ****
they steal and they stare
the grumbling of their belly is it not an excuse enough
(2) I've heard he lives in a barn
near lake Marshdon
he keeps to himself
a sly and sneaky little chap, he is
he is no guileless soul
we all know his truth
he needn't say much
Peter Holcusker is the worst of us
vices know him well
he hides the devil in his trenchcoat pocket
(3) now you ask
why has Peter not spoken up for himself?
gossip and tattle envelop him
yet he like all of us has fallen prey to it
why don't we forget
all our past- doings
like the town-people have forgotten his goodness
everything Peter did with them
they have labeled him, caged him in a flurry of words
they cut his tongue and spoke for him
oh Peter, how did it come to this!
(4) I saw him begging on Downbury lane
his beret was from Harrods
who in their right mind would give money or pity
to a prince-like pauper
Mrs. Zeta saw him in the pharmacy
"He must have stolen all those medicines", she hollered
"Disease is an apt punishment for people like these
these villains must live in constant misery
; that's all these slimy miscreants deserve "
(5) The goldsmith and carpenter, radical believers
of the notion of heaven and hell
look at Peter as if he is already living in the fiery pits of
shame
but they do not pray for him, looking all polished in
their Sunday suits
the army of hypocrites walking in unison to church
singing baseless hymns in great fervor
they leave religion an all its virtues in the bible at the
pew
then gossip away to glory eating pudding after service
mostly about the widowed or Holcusker
(6) all the gossip-mongers huddle
their spiteful remarks like invisible daggers aimed at their
latest victim
their words pierced poor Holcusker's ear
echoes of opinions and beliefs
hound his mind, for who knows how long
oh look, God, at Peter drowning in a sea of helplessness
how often he sits, whiskey in hand
looking for ways to sway his mind
away from his unsaid murderers
(7) "Peter, are you as bad as they claim
tell me you're not the anti-christ, they say you are"
he does not wish to say who he is, or not
but he knows for a fact that 5 years ago
he was just like these hearsayers
looking down on the so-called plebeians
salivating at stories about them and gulping them just the
same
circumstances and karma are powerful beings in this
universe
He regrets ever saying anything, for the postion, he is now
in
(8) Holcusker was a farmer, living happily with his
sweetheart
he had three precious cherubs, whom he cherished deeply
he too went to church every Sunday
with Mrs. Zeta, the goldsmith, and carpenter
eating chocolate truffle after service, mocking the poor
widowed Carrie,
now a harlot, trying to make a living for her children
his words were sharp and ruthless
and now he is at a loss for them
the great misfortune took everything away from him
"Oh, Peter tell me what did you do so ?"
(9) tears stained his eyes, he wept and wept and wept
he cursed the past and its unruly effect on the future
"oh dear, o dear I did what I had to
I did what I thought was right in the heat of the moment
but I can assure my heart guided my unlawful actions
even the psychic could not predict my dreary winter
the opinions I kept ever so freely, were now aimed at me
I was the runt of the town, the fool, the disgrace
now stories and rumors are synonymous with my name
yet no one has come up to me to ask me the reality of the
situation
why would they I don't blame them
for, I wouldn't have done it either "
(10) now Peter Holcusker lives alone
he carries the burden of his past mistakes with him
he is prey to mockery and stares
the source of all gossip and rumors
but I ask you, witness to the story
Is is right, in all its entirety
to reduce the dynamic **** - sapien
subject to change and circumstances
to a mere static picture of that one thing
he once did,?
I leave it to you the same species to answer this lingering
question
are villains always villains?
who's to say who did what?
and can we for once break free from the atmosphere of
suffocating hearsay
and see things for ourselves
I ask this humbly, the rest my dear is up to you
tanned and dried like a prune
eyes wandering, glinting the petty change in his pocket
cobblestone bruised knees and half-eaten bagels
denim overalls, probably stolen
the land was impolite
it's inhabitants no less
"who could love a *****", they hushed
aren't they the children of filth and ****
they steal and they stare
the grumbling of their belly is it not an excuse enough
(2) I've heard he lives in a barn
near lake Marshdon
he keeps to himself
a sly and sneaky little chap, he is
he is no guileless soul
we all know his truth
he needn't say much
Peter Holcusker is the worst of us
vices know him well
he hides the devil in his trenchcoat pocket
(3) now you ask
why has Peter not spoken up for himself?
gossip and tattle envelop him
yet he like all of us has fallen prey to it
why don't we forget
all our past- doings
like the town-people have forgotten his goodness
everything Peter did with them
they have labeled him, caged him in a flurry of words
they cut his tongue and spoke for him
oh Peter, how did it come to this!
(4) I saw him begging on Downbury lane
his beret was from Harrods
who in their right mind would give money or pity
to a prince-like pauper
Mrs. Zeta saw him in the pharmacy
"He must have stolen all those medicines", she hollered
"Disease is an apt punishment for people like these
these villains must live in constant misery
; that's all these slimy miscreants deserve "
(5) The goldsmith and carpenter, radical believers
of the notion of heaven and hell
look at Peter as if he is already living in the fiery pits of
shame
but they do not pray for him, looking all polished in
their Sunday suits
the army of hypocrites walking in unison to church
singing baseless hymns in great fervor
they leave religion an all its virtues in the bible at the
pew
then gossip away to glory eating pudding after service
mostly about the widowed or Holcusker
(6) all the gossip-mongers huddle
their spiteful remarks like invisible daggers aimed at their
latest victim
their words pierced poor Holcusker's ear
echoes of opinions and beliefs
hound his mind, for who knows how long
oh look, God, at Peter drowning in a sea of helplessness
how often he sits, whiskey in hand
looking for ways to sway his mind
away from his unsaid murderers
(7) "Peter, are you as bad as they claim
tell me you're not the anti-christ, they say you are"
he does not wish to say who he is, or not
but he knows for a fact that 5 years ago
he was just like these hearsayers
looking down on the so-called plebeians
salivating at stories about them and gulping them just the
same
circumstances and karma are powerful beings in this
universe
He regrets ever saying anything, for the postion, he is now
in
(8) Holcusker was a farmer, living happily with his
sweetheart
he had three precious cherubs, whom he cherished deeply
he too went to church every Sunday
with Mrs. Zeta, the goldsmith, and carpenter
eating chocolate truffle after service, mocking the poor
widowed Carrie,
now a harlot, trying to make a living for her children
his words were sharp and ruthless
and now he is at a loss for them
the great misfortune took everything away from him
"Oh, Peter tell me what did you do so ?"
(9) tears stained his eyes, he wept and wept and wept
he cursed the past and its unruly effect on the future
"oh dear, o dear I did what I had to
I did what I thought was right in the heat of the moment
but I can assure my heart guided my unlawful actions
even the psychic could not predict my dreary winter
the opinions I kept ever so freely, were now aimed at me
I was the runt of the town, the fool, the disgrace
now stories and rumors are synonymous with my name
yet no one has come up to me to ask me the reality of the
situation
why would they I don't blame them
for, I wouldn't have done it either "
(10) now Peter Holcusker lives alone
he carries the burden of his past mistakes with him
he is prey to mockery and stares
the source of all gossip and rumors
but I ask you, witness to the story
Is is right, in all its entirety
to reduce the dynamic **** - sapien
subject to change and circumstances
to a mere static picture of that one thing
he once did,?
I leave it to you the same species to answer this lingering
question
are villains always villains?
who's to say who did what?
and can we for once break free from the atmosphere of
suffocating hearsay
and see things for ourselves
I ask this humbly, the rest my dear is up to you
