Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

Death of a street warrior

Poetry By: Lord Hoth
Other


what a vigalantes death may be like.


Submitted:Mar 28, 2008    Reads: 102    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   


5 A.M. the alarm sounds time to start a new day

Take a shower lace up my boots lite my cigar hug my son be on my way

I walk the streets of my city looking for crime

I will clear this city of all of its slime

First I see a man being mugged in the alley

I grab the attacker and say "mornin Sally"

Throw him into the brick wall and deck him once clean

Now that he bleeds he's not so mean

Now on the ground he coughs blood and cries

I pick him up and make him look in my eyes

I need not talk the message is clear

He will now fly straight out of sheer fear

Next is a drug dealer who acts rough

Thinks he's real bad stuff

Within two minutes he's on the ground

Not making a singal sound

Now my boots are stained with mud

And my leather jacket with blood

The day grows late I head for home for the night

Then a group of men comes into sight

A gangbanger who I stopped from dealing drugs

Now he comes after me with 5 other thugs

At 6'7 and 300 pounds I dwarf the others

He walks up to 8 feet away and looks at his "brothers"

Looks at me and shouts "what you got to say now white boy"

I say nothing I just stand there with a look of joy

"That's right nothing" he mocks

So I kick him into a metal box

Then I lay into his bros

They are not even worthy foes

Soon they are all down and out

I let out a fierce shout

On my way home a stray bullet from the gun of a cop

Hits me in my right lung and I instantly drop

As I lay on the ground gasping for air my last thought

Is that I was killed by the justice for wich I fought





0

| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.