THE EXECUTIONER

In the slaughterhouse, with reckless disdain, You shatter young destinies, futures you slay. With scowling glares, canes that swing, And red ink splattered, your wrath takes wing.

Your cruel tongue lashes at the slightest mistake, Wielding armoires of ruin, hearts you break. Once a kiln where dreams were shaped and fired, This abattoir now lies in havoc mired.

You claim your reward awaits in the skies, Yet your meager wages groan with cries, Choked by wants that fuel your bitter ire— Is this why my dreams you set afire?

Ask the ancients whose seeds still bloom, Their labor of love dispelled all gloom. With patience and care, they sowed and tended, Their harvest today with joy is blended.

It’s not too late to mend the wrong: With empathy and firmness, make it strong. Brighten this world with simple grace, Let learning’s light reclaim its rightful place.