Gun Powder At The Tower Poem by Cash Onadele

I.
From the tower top, I see your tail lit the tortious wick of hate,
Extinguishing innocent others in clear daylight,
Why do you hide your bile now; in shameful disgust?
Obviously, like filthy rats you are; in holes thrust!
II.
At the tower; many died; lives you ended miserably,
Hopes and aspirations of many relations, thwarted too,
Without mercy or kindness, you hatefully terminated,
Choppers and sirens; circle about your suicide bombs sites.
III.
You unfolded grimness over a glittering city and tower,
Cramped dark; daunting; dampness over weaned winning winter,
The tile grounds’ grey sheets, now gutters-filled pools of tears,
Old Parisian happy street days, now holed up in solemn; unsafe quarters.
IV.
In raids after raids, we pray you are caught; off guards,
That the arms of justice be swift and, firm upon your swollen necks,
The keg of gun powder you lit, exploded our patience,
Now we wish you died, not caught fugitives in the tower.
V.
Horrible, ridiculous waste of human and humane potentials,
Can our peaceful world ever be free of the likes of you?
Tempters of human kindness and forgiveness, in our family towers,
We shall collectively stand up against you, every time you rise