A life is lost in winter
On Melbourne’s frigid streets,
In Fisher Street, an alleyway
A heart no longer beats.
In a blanket in dense shrubbery
A young man, old before his time,
Lies huddled ‘gainst the winter chill
Until they make a ghastly find.
The police go in to investigate
Alerted by a noxious stench,
And from the blanket’s putrefaction
Protrudes a single fist in clench.
Remains too foul to mention
Are of a man long dead,
Attacked while sleeping in the shrubs
For twenty-five years his only bed.
Syringes lie around the corpse
The signature of those who kill,
Who took this poor man’s empty life
Exulting in their monstrous thrill.
© Copyright 2010
© Copyright 2016 Philip Roberts. All rights reserved.