Luigi Mangione in Custody
Looking upon the tough, Blue Shield in pain,
My lover’s life is cresting the dark west
Now, I pray for milk from the beast’s breast—
Knowing her passing propels the shield’s gain.
Contracts in ink betray the frail in vain
While the lively authors pad their vile chests
Each vow they swear is profit’s cruel jest—
A light to mankind’s ever-growing flame.
Yet storms will reap what the pig sty has sown,
A triumphant promise for many cries
Which, like Gabriel’s horn, makes mums vivid.
Mobs might silence the wealthy tyrants’ thrones
And malice drain from their deceitful eyes,
But until then, No One Mourns The Wicked.
