His Fault?

Climb they mountains, under the oceans they go

Leaving no stone unturned, with information they flow

Bold they are, as they freely exPRESS

Despite being surrounded by many to supPRESS

The newspaper in which he wrote had news about him

The article yelled,” A journalist died for a whim.”

His soul moaned,” Not died but martyred.”

His soul fainting away, whispered,” Not a whim but for a truth about a man with beard.”

[Beard is symbolic of manliness ]

He turned to his new home anigh

Only to gaze upon his family from high

Oh! In heaven, he met more of his kind

Brutally murdered in the glory of night

Saying hello to his new family, he looked down

Thrown out of house, begging on roads, his kids were found

His boss called upon his wife, told her he will end her strife

He tempted her to go to a man, having a weapon stained with reporter’s blood, a knife

His wife was pushed to be a prostitute

Her heart bled, she accepted for she had no other substitute

The husband, The father, The reporter lay in his vault

Thought he,” Was speaking freely my only fault?”