I drift past the depictions of this life
Stained with words
Etched with the chagrin
Of La Victoria's past
Pasted with oils
Onto the backs of those grounded
In the poverty.
Swastika- emblazoned dogs
With the faces of men
Glare with ferocity.
Father André Jarlan
Is caught mid- word
'Father forgive them, for they know not what they do'
Ambles from his mouth
Before a bullet catches his back.
Injusticia blemishes the concrete walls
And cries with hopelessness
Towards any who dares to look at it.
Until we may catch the fallen
Who ebb towards the cement and grime
From the heaven of angel wings
And art- strewn bulwarks.
Until we clasp the Icaruses of Santiago.