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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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