The Black Book Blues
by Michael Doyle

A father's hand
Clutches his son's blood
Mired in the sand
Clotting in the mud

Corruption is as corruption does
Some things never change
It's as bad as it ever was
Some things simply rearrange

An honest man can't always be nice
Not when this world extracts its price
Leaving a heart that has been broken
And its mercies are merely token

From inside, there is a look
From the father's black book
That those memories have their cost
When truth can no longer be tossed

Aside like someone else's grief
Such pain has no known relief
It's said it is for our own good
And with a wink and nudge, it's understood

An honest man can be a danger
Remaining outside as a stranger
Unwilling to lose integrity
However, that may seem incendiary

More willing to burn the place down
Than to be made its prince clown
He holds fast to costly truth
The same as he did in his youth

No life is held to be spare
As the wicked spring their snares
The battles must be fought
However tragic, the truth is sought

Evil comes in the black of the night
To blot out any bit of searing light
Until the honest man makes it right
Keeping sacred truth in his sight

Lessons are taught without mistake
Brutal as they are, filled with heartbreak
With nowhere left to hide or to run
No mercy will be shown; none

(c) September 27, 2023   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved