When should the truth remain buried? And will you c/c this poem?

wood splintered beat against door
butts of rifles- huddled on floor.
first grabbed long limp dirty hair
, turned head catch ice-eyed stare.

last grunted once , spit beside on floor;
didn't care anymore.
smelled smoke not lift head;
when found her, in house dead

in barn, way in loft
there cradle, bearing cheerful note:
"please take me home , never tell me tale
of origins." loving couple did not fail.

when son grown became sort of king
, treasured peace , love above things.

the wood splintered beat against door butts of rifles- huddled on floor. first grabbed long limp dirty hair , turned head catch ice-eyed stare. last grunted once , spit beside on floor; didn't care anymore. she...

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