A Crime of Blood

I thought about the city precinct house
Where fierce corrupt detectives in white shirts
And ties enforced the scared obedience Of those who lived around them in apartments

Prisoners were beaten on the street
Before they even entered to be booked,
And if their fists were sore they used their feet — Through their window secretly I looked

I saw the face of Man, a murderer's
Flushed countenance enflamed with rage and zeal,
And that proud smile of power over other Beings, demon-pleasured ecstasy revealed

But they did not see me as I passed by,
Quickly so as not to draw their minds
Away from their intentions, nor would I
Dare to interfere with their designs

Yet I would remember one they beat
Until he died, cadaver in a cell,
And wonder where the souls of us will meet — In prison purgatory or in hell

For we are all complicit, one to one
Who see a crime of blood and turn aside
As those who left the scene of crucifixion
Saying: It was Christ, not me who died

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  • Guest

    As a Catholic and 19 year veteran of the policing profession, I thought this poem was tasteless.  To paint law enforcement officers in this light is shameful and I'm a bit disappointed in Catholic Exchange, one of my favorite resources on all of the Internet, for reprinting it here.

    Jeff Baker

    Defend Us In Battle.org

  • Guest

    Dear Mr. Baker,

     

    Why do you assume that the poem describes an event that happened in the United States?

     

    Pavel

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