[Ronnie Rowlands]

I've not written a lot of poetry in my lifetime, it's never been something I've been that 'in' to. However I had an idea last night and I knocked this piece of tat together. I hope you all like it.

Dead Male One.

By gravestones, those with weak emotions weep,
From their eyes soft tears protrude and seep,
The rev’rand reads from holy book a prayer,
The loved ones, they just stand around and stare.

In Field shrouded in mud, tree and leaf,
There lies a stone and one dishevelled wreath,
Engraved in stone the name “Dead Male One”,
Unnamed man who’s only friend is the sun.

Killed, killed was he, the man without a face,
A victim in this fearful murder case,
And who was he and what did he, and why?
This man without a face was left to die.

This man, no hands he touched in his grim life,
And yet he fell to madman with a knife.
Who was this man, what did he do, and why?
What crossed his mind when sudden death was nigh?

Identified? Who by? He had no friends,
And nothing did his unknown death portend,
For in the background, ‘Dead Male One’ would blend,
His funeral? Who knew him, who attends?

No one. In his granted world, he hadn’t a friend.

Dead Male One? His name escapes my mind
Dead Male One? Why should I care he died?
Dead Male One? I did not know his name.
Stabbed? My word, just who did he defame?

Who made me be another lifeless corpse?
A madman with a knife whose mind was warped?
If only coppers knew more of my life.
Then they would know it was my secret wife.

By Ronnie Rowlands