The Killers Tale
Constrained, calm and cold, absent all strife
Puerile, placid, flaccid in life
Nothing to venture, little to gain
No bones are broken, no blood to stain…
...The tipping point looms, brain barely roils
Testosterone screams, blood pressure boils
Guts gorged and griping, grab for the gun
Head for the highway, ripping to run
Relentless reaper, sight seems to shrink
Sirens start shrieking, lights locked in synch
Neighbours take cover,
Strangers take flight
There is no pity, dark in this night
May 20, 2021
Copyright © Peter Bryce | Year Posted 2021
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