Too late

Stray bullet whistling by
Agent of hate and bravado:
Lost, yet with deadly aim
Son of a gun -
You sullen heart...
Look what you've done !



Why hide your face
Or seek the hills
Upon your awful hitch ?
Oh how the mascots
Lap your heels -
And you, in dread
A ruse or grace
You now  implore....
To shirk the wrath
Of vengeful eyes.

Was it the gun, or hand at fault
In this awful game or ploy
Of brutishness?
Or was it your pain your hurt
Knotted within and bottled up?
Questions abound for  all of us
Yet onto you confer no lease
Of wantonness !

Too late my friend , your hand is played
The chastely bounty lies in wake - and
Not a ruse or wand , can blot your trace.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©