Bayonet

Long bayonet, blood channel Breaks suction to pull loose After the thrust and twist so it is Quickly ready for its next use. Lovingly polished, honed and whet Of finest steel, Sheffield made A thing of beauty This thirsty blade. Seeming to quiver in the hand As though anticipating his thrill As he patiently waits for The chance of his next kill. Clothed all in black With blackened face Standing motionless In his chosen place. The watchers watch, monitor His dreams, read his despair The experiment conducted With precision and great care. Probing deeply in his mind To discover why He gets such pleasure from Watching others die. This tormented man Creation of warring state Trained to kill without Remorse or hate. Nobody prepared To take their blame For what he did In their cause and name. The probes record His remembered hell Tick, quiver, in his brain As he sleeps in his cell In his mind ready to thrust And twist his bayonet blade Long and shining and sharp, Stainless Sheffield steel made.