Part Seven

……….far beneath the whir of metal

Canvas city’s sprawl,

     And far beneath the tick of time

The healing never comes,

Never feels the heart that’s broke

Of every soldier shunned,

Guilty of the gun;

a longing

For the days of innocence

Before murder set its stall,

     Shadows every act,

     A harrow for a loathsome job,

An occupation of the fact……….