Shadow Bangers

by davidchrzanowskipoetry

A hand half-hidden
amongst the brazen hearth.
Nothing more than a tear of branches,
clumped together, twisted
into a gnarled knuckle.

Aggression:
a raging fury of intent
to cheat a half-baked system
designed to produce
a fall of magnificent proportions.

A mould to fit a new era,
one that allows
a rich spread of disease,
back-biting
and spiteful rumour.

The ability to live quietly
keeps you alive
for one more day,
but the shadows
are only kept at bay.

Closing from all sides,
draining power, quashing light,
vices force morality’s hand.
Until one day when backs break,
they are simply replaced.

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