I drift past the depictions of this life

Stained with words

Etched with the chagrin

Of La Victoria's past

And present.

Angels' wings

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.

All refrain.

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.