A Poem I wrote in 1992

Wicked

When the dark night broke out against the land

They called us wicked.

When the fire came, and tore on through the day

They called it justice.

When we died, and our skin popped and roasted on the spit

We cursed them all.

And still we remain

We crawl

We doom

And yes we are

Still

Wicked.

23 February 2007