On that morbid day, when heavens hung a bit low in blue
There was lone Gomez but no Morticia by morn's dew.
By that hopeless night when shelterless poor died in storm,
Lone roam'd love, an unwelcom'd gypsy that took no form.
When farmer's daughter was trafficked by the feudal lord
By the hangin' tree in farm, necklace of rope- a father wore.
When women sold their bodies, men their intellects to live
Kapital was valued better than a mere human life to give.
When life was a race, -survival of the richest the only way;
Siblings cannibalised siblings on that morbid brainless day.
When no human could fulfill his or her specie essence
Faiths, borders, regions- the control was moulded hence.
In times, the blind, dumb and deaf enjoyed with glee
Their happy lots, storms, games, and indoctrinations free.
On that morbid day, when heavens hung a bit low in blue
There was lone Gomez but no Morticia by morn's dew.
-Mason Carter