Topic: Cops on Patrol

Topic Battle Rules:

10 - UNLIMITED Lines
No Crew Votes
No Recycling
No Biting

Minimum posts to vote: 20

Check in by: 05-14-05 at 08:28 PM

Must drop verse in 4320 minutes after check in.

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Sort of long...

The rain fell hard, running in rivulets down the cemetery.
A priest recited rituals, the dead bodied was lowered, buried.
"Mr. John Lakes, 1964-2005...Loyal Father, once married"
said the tombstone's inscription, read by one ex-cop, wary.

He had no umbrella to shield him from the drops of rain,
mixing with the tears on his gaunt cheeks, hiding the pain.
His fingers twitched involuntarily, as he tried to explain:
it wasn't his fault, his emotions unable to be contained.

He stood there for hours, eyes narrowed to the grave,
of one of the only two people, in his career, he hadn't saved.
Once-lieutenant, turning eyes away, departed with a wave,
fresh flowers on the burial site, mixed with others he gave.

His shoes, standard issue, slapped audibly on the street;
bringing up puddles, oblivious, head hung in simple defeat.
A child stared from an alley, scavaging for food to eat.
He noticed the eyes, the nose, dug in his pockets for a treat.

His hands came up empty, clenching a few strands of lint.
The ex-cop turned away,seeing the couple wherever he went.
He quickened his pace with a stoic face, broke into a sprint.
Remember everything he had once did, everything he didn't.


Riding in his cruiser, his foot slamming down the pedal,
making a sharp turn, hearing the crumpling of metal.
Held by his seatbelt, he waited for his thoughts to settle.
The unlucky passenger died, grasping a handful of petals.

Turns out the flowers were for his Alzheimer-stricken mom.
Roses, the thorns biting into the dead man's pale palm.


The cop's eyes were sullen, sinking into their sockets.
His hands reached around, landing next to his left pocket.
He took the gun in his hand, a tool to end his pain.
To his temple, pulled the trigger, the walls coated with brains.