Weapons of Corruption

   Weapons of Corruption  

      Sling, slack, limp,

         The smallest pebble labors.

      The least thought,

         Causes no quiver.

      No bow, no spear,

         Soft stones, no edges,

      Questions trouble,

         Doubt, no doubt, without a doubt.

      Blunt, jagged, serrated,

         Pointless cuts are deeper than impalement.

      Sliding to the ground, the black rain,

         Reflects the moon, soft round, home.

      Slowly, I drown in my tears.

         Bitter, sweet, like life,

      The night turns to dawn, 

         Then to day.

JEFF TURNBULL