Below is the poem entitled The assasination of Margaret May which was written by poet
Syed. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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The wind was blowing,
as the car was going,
across the hills ; across the vales
the night seemed young , as each nightbird sung
to the moon there long and timeless tales.
Then, at midnight hour
the chauffeur rested, his iron fists upon the wheel.
There it was,
The mansion of Margaret May,
whose life tonight I shall verily seal.
I approached the moors like a silent hound
I scaled the walls then climbed the mounds
And though the night was dark and still
I still saw the great house upon the grey hill.
I scanned each wing like a wolf would see,
a sheep as it feeds with humility,
and yet it was no prey, that I was to kill,
for the hounds, they now bayed upon each hill.
The moon gleamed its mischief upon the terrace;
And it shined, like an unearthly thing,
it gleamed its sorrow upon my face,
and wailed its scorn, against the human beings.
I entered the house
the doors were not locked,
so I opened them slowly and its walls they did talk.
They spoke of devils and demons and familiar kind;
But I did not see them for my soul was blind.
I took out the weapon and its barrel shined,
by the light of the moon thay was now declined.
And having climbed up the ladder, to the rooms upstairs,
I found May just finishing her prayers.
She turned around and I gazed at her eyes;
How could such beauty be 'bought' to demise?
I dropped the weapon,
no bullet could shred;
The flesh of the mortal,
that before me was spread.
And yet she would die for the world could not accept,
what in this masion was hidden and kept.
She was not lustful but lust itself
and yet I could not stop myself.
For I had no soul,
I had no sin,
I went for her throat, and held tight her chin.
She did not struggle;
She did not plead.
Rather she smiled, till I had finished the deed.
And left her silent;
And still upon her bed,
and there she lies smiling,
but her heart is cold and dead