Poem: Cloaked – 03/04/21

The cloak and the dagger lie in the foreground, 
awaiting to be employed, 
ready for use. 

What part of the present screams for perusal, 
what part of the current? —
tried, terrible and true? 

Sheath that dagger, 
hide beneath that cloak, 
hear the nightly winds rustle 
through the still-golden oaks,
 
and if there’s desire for much more, 
when the moments ought to be bottled,
admired, 
should culprits turn to run,
 
ambiguity in tired breaths as
innocence gives chase,
justice will be told, 
lest my breath expires, 
laid to waste.