In his cocky reverie
The truth the three would carry
To the steps of the authority
to boast of their pernicious spree
But he did not know that I could see
And therefore was not wary
For hidden in the rectory
Protected by the church decree
He delved in child pornography
While elders professed not to see
His sister told them it could be
He killed the child and honest she
His secret would not bury
They did not know he’d changed the key
When police would come to query
So they broke and entered quietly
Though he would claim illicitly
And so avoiding calumny
A grand sum he was paid to flee
And so it was, conveniently,
Their questions he would parry
To solve a tale of misconstrue
Just look into the offman’s pew
You’ll find there in Ft. Luptons slough
Stray cats aplenty, skinned a few
On prying stoops their hides did strew
And cats blood will scare daughters too
While bushes hid their sins from view
Richard held the cue.
The child must die, he did decide
The crime arranged, the ritual plyed
With church at stake and family pride
Three men he chose to end her
Though two decried this church a lie
Their testimony was denied
With ties that run both “deep and wide”
No one could defend her
Now some have gone and some have stayed
Class defined the roles they played
Someday you’ll know the masquerade
Of Zack the great pretender
The Manchurian Doll

They say that innocence prevails
And evil cannot master time
And riches, fame and fortune sow
Some evil seeds which then will grow
To devour the progenitors
Of thirty duos, some must know
That they themselves will out their crime
And have.

Within an old man's fleeting leer
The cycle of the dolls came round
It poisoned sick the world's Yule cheer
The use their own. In passing down
The rituals remain unfound.
And Christmas break gives time to heal
Parties abound, all wounds congeal
But one.

At blithely festive New Year's bash
Some candidates en route stopped there
As if by feigning toasts and cheer
They could undo the fatal sash
The week before.
But handlers die. And what to do?
With Christmas nigh, the one in lieu
Did err.

Saint John would roll o'er in his grave
To know the smut that crossed his nave
Yet Christmas day he held her near
As if he knew she'd disappear
That very night.
An elder cleric's errant son
His extant crush now on the run
Did they supply the candidates
With fodder for the lewd e-fun?
Do tell.

Truth blazes in but from Mcfar
The hunt team's snare was too adept
With keen eyes placed to guard the bar
The talk of dolls in silence kept
They tripped the truth while jurors prepped
Then sacked the hunter as inept. But hunters now
The hunted are.

Death's officer perfidy bared
Though taint of roofs fast disappeared
No antidote this Snow White spared.
The other signs were clearly there
Yet all were hastily interred
And silky-dressed and golden-haired
Truth slept

Of one who died outstretched on high
Most gentle hand His swaddle made
And in sepulchral cloth she laid
His arms tucked in, nor twine replayed
'Round captive limb

This mortal braid is our demise
When angels parish in its vise
Betrayed by kindred's galling lies
As purloined justice turned blind eyes
A panicked lapse left unsurmised
Clues carried home, already prone

However, one must study greats
Take, for example, William Yeats
Who spoke about Byzantium
No governor could stop the run
Your split in planning took its toll
You race spun out of your control
Things fall apart.

The antichrist lurks in the head
It festers in the carnal eye
Which takes young victims from their bed
To suffer that and then to die
Now vacant, half glazed tears are shed
From ambidextrous author's head
One doll, now grown, hides in dread
Another Manchurian candidate
is dead.

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