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Home » High Critique » The Trigger

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1/9/2011 6:51:23 AM


Posts:
I wield the deathly disciple,
In those trembling hands of mine,
And descending down the depths,
Of the bestial brutality,
I prepared myself,
for the hellish deed,
An act so demeaning,
That the furious flames of remorse,
Will inflict on me the pain,
As I would seek redemption.

The man who lies before me,
Helpless and prostrate,
Is the one to be requited,
For the crimes not done,
For the choices not made,
Yet his silent screams,
And still struggles,
Are rendered futile,
Against an inanimate heart,
Which resides within.

As my shuddering fingers,
Near the trigger,
Compassion and clemency,
Rush through the blood,
Pleading for a retreat,
Still the trigger was pulled,
And I saw death lunge away,
In the joy of despair,
And the scythe caressing,
The unfortunate one.

The bullet made its way deep,
In his brittle body,
And eternal soul,
As I felt myself,
Far more mauled,
Than the one,
Who receives the scars,
Of the demented scythe,
Till the soul escapes,
Its earthly captivity.

Then the angels peeped,
From the heights,
Of the infinite skies,
Accusing me of the sin,
They cursed me,
And damned me,
For imbuing the agony,
They have to bear,
The bruises of deceit,
I marked on them.

And from beneath my toes,
The demons surfaced,
They chuckled and grinned,
As they recognized me,
As a mighty sentinel,
Of their wretched realms.
The stench of blood,
Dripped from my hands,
Stained and maimed,
For all eternity.

As I walked away,
I sensed a spirit,
Skulking beside me,
Asking for over and over,
The reason behind,
His early liberation .
I shrugged it aside,
As I hoped for the pain,
To engulf my torn soul,
And rid me of a life of remorse.
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