Shockingly evil, wicked and vile,
With a taste for horrific, prolific denial.
The way that he smirked
In the court at his trial,
With those animal teeth,
Brought to life with a smile.

His image in pictures,
All slick, prim and clean,
A believable fixture,
Of an American dream,

But there's darkness there, behind the smile,
Beyond his con, and staunch denial.
Look past that postcard yankee dream,
To nightmares, filled with violent screams.

A wolf behind a stack of books.
His looks, that hid the cracks of crooks.
The charismatic charm it took,
To bait his victims, line and hook.

Three decades he's dead,
But he still feels alive.
Like a snake's severed head,
Filled with venom and drive,

And his presence still hangs,
Like a fresh Knotted noose,
While his Victims lay rotting,
Like an old butchered goose.

And some just forgotten,
Now a scatter of bones.
Without flowers or coffins,
or graves to call home.

Families left to mourn and cry
scorned by hope, as closure dies,
Mother's weep and father's sigh,
With no one left, to testify.
© James Moynihan