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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Through Their Eyes The Poetry Murders Part 3 in the series Murder She Wrote It was a dark night with a full moon The alley narrow, my hopes high My footsteps echoed in the ears of the invisible I quicken my pace I had an eerie feeling, fate waiting At the next gate I rounded the corner Mist from the sewer drifting The ambient mood that of sinister Is that the wind I hear? Before I could gaze up A thousand heavy books Rained down upon me head I was struck dead Surrounded by books and words A hundred yards away Behind the walls of the church graveyard There was laughter in the night Murder she wrote The final perfect one As I lay dead On the street of forgotten poets Through Their Eyes part 2 Sleeping Beauty She gazed into my haunted eyes Knowing my devotion was absolute and complete She fulfilled my nefarious dreams Ever so peaceful in her green eyed slumber She struggled with the rope and tape I whispered in her ear Relax, your destiny is clear You shall sail to the sweetest of places I shall allow you your escape Slowly, smothered with my pillowed love She lies lifeless In peace With my poems upon her chest She has found paradise at last As the light fades from the far away sea Old roads become watery graves North she sails with my words upon her very soul Through Their Eyes part 1 The Poetry Murders She is hiding I know it She knows it She’s next The vast expanse of Ontarian forest Is no protection at all I am the butcher of all slithering poets After all they slaughtered the words Fair is bloodthirsty fair! Everyone suspects the butler Or maybe the Gardner All the usual suspects No one guesses the millionaire Money isn’t everything you know Murder is the thing keeps me on the go Florida was pleasant trip A lot of writers around the lakes A lot of poets down there are really fakes I’ll be serving tacos on sticks Nothing like having strangers eat the evidence The alligators will get the scraps I wrapped them up in such poems of utter crap I so loved the Bible belt They are seekers of redemption and find only fools Now there is a writer with a huge welt The axe you see split his head in three Breathless he sleeps like the holy trinity Rotting away, the same stink was there As In life his rotten disposition Filled ones nostrils the same as deaths kitchen Now I fancy a trip back in time Way way back, way back were I hear roman chimes Caesars second is chasing killers I shall turn the tables of destiny and time Slitting his throat a thousand times Brutus was a pussy cat compared to me! I drinkith the cup of blood, I am thirsty as can be Oh this spree has just begun Killing poets is just so much fun They can hide behind their masks Shivering in silence I stalk their fear Tickling their soulless spines I have a gift wrapped in blood Let me make you divine I pronounce you Silent One till the end of time Headless you sit in your chair Hideous and hiding In death you shall have more class and flair Cyanide is slow and fun You see them shrivel, blank stares Death dancing all over their hairs Your next drink, I do say beware It flows with poetic dreams Taking you away from this earth The sad news is this You will not be going upstairs! Agatha Christie could not spell The fact of the matter some do dwell If she was alive to see me now I’d be facing the garrote for murdering her cow Alas she is gone, dead and buried I smirk; they never caught me for her or the cow Now if you think I am a psychotic nut For murdering poets, hey I was in a rut They all deserved their painful butchered demise Even they have locked me up Not for murder, I was really too good at that They think I am mental and hey lets play along I have one last murder you see, so delicious This crime soon to be I ate my ear to be locked up here Inside of the institute called J Ward
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