The Fourth Estate

the ink like blood flows thick
seeping and bleeding onto whiteness
innocence trapped within cracks
flowing in glee into unread stories

chasing whispers, screams and laughter
in thin air imagined a killing fields
every alert eyes and ears ever eager
a vulture to news picking the carrion

there are truths and lies assumptions
to be untrue for the masses but the rest
wants the white bone to shaved off flesh
to scrutinize to grumble about or to airy chat

headlines scream blatantly on the screen
the papers painted in huge words shared
a byline on the frontpage to die for
a junior page enough to win a smile

digs for the dirt to upload horror
to share someone else's fear
tragedies eagerly sought for
deaths and disaster the first para

the heart of the craft
is tough and calloused
the soul deals in chilling refrain
in every truth told
at least
one a soul is slain