Hatred created,

as the family waited,

the police and the deputies had approached,

almost as if they were coached,

once more across the same stale ground,

slowly, silently,

the murderer passed them with his head down,

his hands were gripping a stack

of rolled up court papers behind his back,

nothing was said, nothing heard,

no one spoke, not even a curse word,

there was no eye contact,

but he felt them, and that was a fact,

only the victims’ voices rattled

down the long corridor,

reality battled,

as the violent crimes were told and retold,

the death sentence, sold then resold,

but finally, everything looked better in the cold,

a priest shook his head,

as he brought up the rear,

he was there to pray for the dead,

but would do it without shedding a tear.