Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.227.228.218
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
2.

To be alive is to dance with danger.
Both hands off the wheel,
We fly down the icy plane of existence
Trusting our belief in a Right Order of Things
To shield us from the chaos,
The chaos that waits like a hungry beast
Just off the dim edges of waking life.

There is a poison which infects us,
Running through the deep channels of our minds,
Corroding our sense of self-control,
Rubbing raw the frayed edges of our common senses
Making us crave the deadly clarity of the irrational act,
Breeding a lust for the fearful appeal
That lies smiling in the hidden heart of brutality.

     He comes out of his home early that morning,
     His fiancee' stepping brightly beside him.
     They climbed into their truck together    
     Warming one another with new lovers' looks
     In the snapping cold November air.
     When they felt themselves readied for another suburban day,
     They began backing out, 
     Never noting the Hatchback's approach.
     
     So, with a little jar and a little crunch,
     Their vehicles met in a tiny collision.
     Minor damages produced,
     Enough for annoyance, no cause for hardship.
     He got out to meet the other driver,
     Prepared to dispatch with this unfortunate delay
     Then move on with the day.

     He saw the other driver walking towards him,
     Then saw the gun.

     In the space of one flashing moment
     Another life met its abrupt end.

     Without a word, the stranger lifted his gun
     And emptied a full clip into his target.
     9mm slugs opened round tunnels
     In the stunned body standing before him,
     Blood rained brightly, roses on new snow.

     After the limp form of the newly dead fell,
     The killer walked back to his truck
     Brought out a fresh clip,
     To calmly use it up on the body
     That danced under the impacts,
     A briefly animated corpse upon the tarmac.

     As these things transpired the woman,    
     The would've-been wife of the bleeding ruin
     Screamed in the cab; she screamed and screamed
     Like a bird in pain,
     Face a vision of horror.

     That horror broke itself for a fleeting moment,
     Long enough to let panic flood in
     The would-be wife took off then,
     In aimless, agonized flight.

     The killer roamed free for days.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required