Comments about Charles Baddeley
Who lurks in the dim lit street?
Perhaps each shadow hides a form.
A crime of fearful retribution mete.
A mask of hate, trained to deform.
Revenge moves with reckless force, unhinged.
A pride, or greed; no Christ like act.
A young man shoots dead, without a twinge
No thought up murder, to enact.
A body falls in silent death;
blood pulsing form the hideous wound.
Reduced to useless frame, without breath.
A victim to the desolate darkness attuned.
For this is Belfast, where life is cheap;
where, who strikes first lives another ...