100 Words / Prompt: Bathed
Storm clouds roil in the sulphurous air
clogged with smoke of cigars from pinstriped, bloated men
who direct with a snarl and the flick of ash;
moist lips beneath shrewd, piggish eyes idly sip whiskey from crystal
while Rome burns.
Ignorance spews from the mouths of the rabble
as if rage could bind and derision unite.
Dispirited mothers drown their babies.
Self-righteous neighbors stone daughters for inherited sins.
Soulless children murder for trifles.
Opulent kings strafe their subjects for daring to dream.
She sits in her darkened room
bathed in despair,
dreaming of lilacs,
praying for spring.