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For not the fist or last time he kills, he somehow finds justification but knows when the time is right, he will be condemned.


Submitted:Dec 19, 2007    Reads: 133    Comments: 1    Likes: 1   


I twist my vengeance,

full weight behind the knife

His eyes whisper one last phrase,

something about forgiveness


I remove the blade

which displays fragments of struck bone

Watch the blot thirsty steps

consume his warm, spilt blood


I hope his senses feasted on the pain,

long enough, so the sting unbearable

His body rattles defeat

crippled by its own pathetic demise


I do not turn to celebrate victory

I trust the gods will condemn him worthless

A wry smile is self awarded,

earned upon the battlefield of justice


Alas my path to absolution

has many a blocking

His death is but the trimming

of an impassable wall





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