- Perhaps, if within every wayward soul,
some residue from conscience remains
It is this, that brokers destiny's control,
or the mind's need for repent, explains.
Maybe, the fear of retribution prevails,
the presumption, that liberty may be lost.
Or a fear, which a criminal mind assails,
that to forfeit life eternal, is the final cost
Depression, perhaps had shaped his lot,
the hard years of the thirties, like as not.
Childhood, a life in poverty, 'til the war,
then the Army given orders as his law.
McGinty one of many, providence forgot.
Fragile minds, from all normality barred,
forever, by senseless carnage left marred.
A generation, youth, forfeited to the war,
of values, spewed from a cannon's maw,
McGinty, one of many, mentally scarred.
Survival skills, those pacifists never learn,
become the loathsome passport for return.
Seems morality, is replaced by need to live,
the creed is take, what others will not give.
McGinty thought laws to be of no concern.
A rise beyond life's dross, needed to aspire,
war oft' the catalyst, to life within the mire.
Responsibility, one needed skill, unlearned,
admit to nothing, a way for some returned.
McGinty one of many, most ethics to retire.
A duffer, thief, a villain, of decency, bereft,
a crutch of self pity, used to justify all theft.
A wife, a drudge, to convenience and lust,
two offspring, led to crime by ways unjust
"McGinty", was the clan, with no future left.
Awareness comes, too late to such as these,
when guilt creates a conscience to appease.
By one's self judged, then held to account,
self castigation, a harsh truth to surmount
McGinty, like so many, offered up his pleas.
Repentant, sins may justify, McGinty could not.
Allow fate's victim, in seeking solace for his lot,
found that Nirvana, where all losers ever laugh
May words following be his unwritten epitaph,
"McGinty one, of the many Providence forgot."
©: Copyright: Bernard de Silva