A Welcome Home

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

A poem based on a real event that I recall hearing about in the local news. This was a while back, but it sort of came to mind for some reason when I started writing the first two lines.

Submitted: May 03, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 03, 2018



Each digit collapsed and curled.

Into open palms, they contort and become the power of fists.

Delivering life through the veins, They thrust forth with fiery demand.

I’ve felt the sting of pain as knuckles meet knuckles. And wept the tears that flowed thereafter.

I’ve oft wondered their sorrow as they trembled, hoping to not breed more suffering.

Was it a flash of anger they responded to or the indignity of fear?

I’ve hoped to never have to lift my fists in destruction but trained to defend what was right.

Self-defense they say it was. I stood amongst an assortment of people that witnessed the spectacle, but my mind knew the terror of what I had done.

They approached with knife in hand and I had none. A reaction of life. A swift decision that held no remorse ‘til it was done.

Two young kids, foolish and taunting. They felt they could control anything with a blade, but it wasn’t their day.

My training had given me skills. I had warned them with several words. They were told I was Death made by man. The warning went by their ears phasing not their sensibilities.

Steel was something they had. It gave them purpose. It gave them power. Steel was their god and it had been their undoing.

The first motion. A sweep of the gleaming edge. It never touched its target but found the blood of the wielder upon its skin.

Buried in a beating heart, it pulsed with life. The second child saw the sight. Cried out, “Murderer!”

His face felt a crushing blow as he thrust his blade forth.

He never saw it. The foot that broke his jaw, but it tumbled him over into the earthen ground.

Sirens wailed into the scene. Men with guns, rushed and cuffed. The one who still did stand. His victory, not a sight, they could understand.

Days came and they went. In a prison, he did sit. Telling his tale of two foolish kids that thought to test.

One of the military’s great Elite.  

© Copyright 2019 A.K.Taylor. All rights reserved.

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