Page 1, A sonnet written from Dexters point of view.

The banish’d memories of a shattered past,

A child born out of blood, consumed by hate.

Forgotten creature trapped where naught shall last,

His birth has now become his life and fate.

Lo, I am he who from death gaineth life,

Behind the hero’s mask my demons hide,

By day I live by lies, by night a knife,

But nothing seems to fill the void inside.

For thee I ache where once a heart had been,

But I promise to thee if ‘twere still there,

Though tarnished by my past of righteous sin,

To thee I would entrust my black heart’s care.

            Alas, in darkness I shall ever live,

            For monsters have no heart that they may give.

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