Madness tries its' tricks
But, he pushes it aside
He cannot let it in
He does his job with pride

The guiltless are protected
He does his very best
He takes the sin upon himself
Puts the impure-souls to rest

Tonight, it is a rapist
He caught him as he fled
Too late to save the victim
Sprawled upon her bed

In his spotless kitchen
The chef gets out his knives
Hot kettles boil and simmer
So full of useless lives

Have I become a puppet to the people I loved,
bowing to their nays and ayes
seeking their approval each time I have served
in every role I have played?

Let this not be true! A man without identity
is a slave to other's perceptions
in all his actions, there is no sincerity
seeking for approval, fearing rejections

I'm reclaiming my rights to be heard
the muted voice has awakened
no longer will it revel in silence
it is their turn to sit back and listen

error
slip margin of sleight
fault visage
and mirror hosts\

seething haste
of spedthrift
ghost

.

Mrs Duncan sits in her wheelchair
letting family and friends
press food into her hands,
and tissues to her dry eyes

a single framed photo
graces the polished sideboard.
his long, gentle face, surrounded
by cards and flowers,
smiles out at those gathered there

Mrs Duncan seems indifferent

their youngest daughter, a black beetle,
scurries between kitchen and lounge room
with plate after plate after plate
of food

activity keeps her from screaming