Reads: 65  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 2

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: April 20, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 20, 2017



The streets ran red 
The man lay there 
With a trampled head 
I don’t think he is dead 
But that said 
He isn’t moving 

His breaths are laboured 
Four ribs are cracked 
Size ten shoe  
Imprinted on his back 

His eyes are bruised 
His nose is bloody 
His cheeks are swollen 
And also muddy 

His clothes are ripped 
His shoes have holes 
Now he barley has his soul

He asked the wrong person that was his only crime 
He only asked if he could spare any change
To you and I that might seem lame 
Yet to this man it made him deranged 

He hit out 
Just because  he could 
He liked the sight of the man’s blood 
He like the cries and  pleas to stop 
He liked the sound as the man’s knee popped 
 The attack was vicious and relentless
The man stood no chance 
He couldn’t defend it 

This vicious man no consonance had he 
He continued to pummel him endlessly 
The poor mans head bounced off the ground  
And shortly after he made no sound 
The man with his victorious stance 
Took to the street  , like a horse in mid prance 

He left the man to die alone 
He wasn’t bothered 
He just returned home 
He Kissed his wife and hugged his kids 
He smiled inside knowing what he did 

She was no wiser, she just didn’t know 
She married a thug, who liked to put on a show 
He was to sneaky, never showed his bad side 
Always in her presence the monster did hide 

He lives with the memories 
But he doesn’t care
Because he is a monster 
He isn’t a man 
Pounds on people 
Just because he can 

© Copyright 2018 J A OVERTON. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:


Booksie 2018 Poetry Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by J A OVERTON

Popular Tags