"The Collection" - (Index by Year)

 

S H A D E S

 

So many shades,

            made of black and white.

Like blades in a field,

            all wrongs and no right.

A full harvest yield,

            of obscenity arcades.

No one can smell,

            the brooding parades.

Until a ticking heart fails,

            tired with despair.

With no power to wield,

            fueled by fear.

No room for the kind,

            the crackers,

or the spades.

Justice is blind,

            when hiding behind shades.

 

 

       - February 1997 -