The Peacekeepers, the Freedom Fighters, the Strong Arm of the Law: At Least That’s What They are in Theory

So I begin with an exposition on how I’d sometimes contemplate on the circumstances during martial law here in the country.  Well, apparently, let’s just say that during those times, the norm would be to high tail it upon seeing the police or a soldier instead of the usual, “What seems to be the problem, officer?” bit.

Well, of course, there are also those accounts from other countries where the armed forces reign albeit informally— with just a little backing of gunpowder and terror-sowing among hapless civilians.  You know, there’s Myanmar, Cambodia, and, well, honestly those are all I can think of with surety right now.  But I hope you do get my point.

In that light, allow me to share a composition I’ve made back when I was, what, in high school— and without further ado:

 

Curfew

By Miguel Gutierrez

 

The wolves are coming,

A pack of ravenous mongrels,

Marauding the prairies that

Are the urban back-alleys and

underbellies

Where they learned to kill in

Cold blood, to navigate

Through the haze of excessive

violence and

Obscenity.

 

The wolves are coming,

In their mangy coats, black as

Death, studded with blood-sucking

Fleas.  They don these uniforms

To impose the menace of their authority,

Badges vested upon them to keep the

Peace with brutal means and

Wrathful measures.

 

The wolves are coming,

With yellow fangs of lead and

Vorpal claws of hardwood fashioned to

Bludgeon,

Leaving in their destructive wake

Infected wounds of

Thuggery and

Goonery.

 

The wolves are coming;

They are not intelligent, but

Instinct compensates, the

Bloodlust in their nature, the

Black smoke in their lungs and the

Salt in their bones.  Wanton wants

and nefarious needs drive them

ever-forward in a storm of gun powder and

Foul

Language.

 

The wolves are coming;

It is their time–

They are hunting, you see,

Prowling like a boisterous

Orgy of profanity,

Cackling,

Howling

Snickering.

 

The wolves are coming;

They smell the savory scent of

Innocence from miles away, inciting

Insatiable hunger.

They hear the slightest traces of

Trembling fear, inspiring an

Awful deluge of warlike

Jubilation.

They have tasted blood.

 

The wolves are coming;

My friend, what a blunder to have

Ended up here.

The wolves are coming;

The thuds of cured leather grow

Louder.

The wolves are coming;

Their snarls are within

Earshot.

The wolves are coming;

The wolves are coming;

The wolves are coming;

 

They are very near now.

(END OF POEM)

 

I don’t know, I just remembered this piece when I was thinking on the above recently (well, so too does this piece come up in my thoughts on Bob Marley and the lyrics of a number of his songs, but that’s beside the point right now); seems to ring a clear chime through my stream of thought on the matter.

Wouldn’t you think so too?

 

— Miguel C. Gutierrez

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