Author Information
The Assassin's Heart
Folder:
Belief Related Looming through the darkness so cold
His heart pounds, in which he holds
The key to every soul of his kill
He holds them to torture until
The night in which is tonight
He pursues what might be the biggest fright
Crouched behind a church steeple
Staring down at the hoards of people
Devising like a wild cat
He blends in with the shadows, so flat
Giving a menacing look here and there
Patient as a hawk, he continues to stare
In search of the next victim
During a night so dark and dim
His foot barely sounds against the shingles
And his hands, on the vines, he gently mingles
Moving slowly with time
The church bells sound a chime
It is eight at night now in this moonlight
From that height, it must be a beautiful sight
But nevertheless, his muscles twitch in agony
He squeezes his hands into fists of villainy
Every patient man has his toll
He longs for his blood thirst to yet be full
Slipping down the white brick ruin
Setting for low ground is what he is doing
Blending in with the shadows again
For true light he may greatly offend
He hears the footsteps of a citizen walking
He ducks and hides to commence the stalking
A little girl tottles around the corner
She looks to be a poor foreigner
Stepping close to the church doors
Oh this kind little spirit he abhors!
She continues closer until she spots some change
She bends over to pick up the coins just in range
The assassin can't hold his compulsive blood thirst no more
A leap, grab around the shoulders, slit to the throat and she becomes something of before
He throws her body in a haystack
And next to the church door he became intact
He left the child's blood to scream its' plea
As if nothing had occurred, he stepped inside
In this holy place he had commonly lied
With hands extended and on his knees
He shouted, "Oh God, my God please!
Hear this voice that shouts your name
Because of my sinful heart which I cannot tame
I need your forgiveness, take away my pain!"
The believers inside found him to be true, but insane
As everyone stopped their prayers to watch the man
He stepped outside to falsely prove that he can
Cheat God like he cheats a man from his life
He feels he has all the power at the blade of his knife
But again and again he will never know
The kind of penalty on his head he bestows
Yes I always love the tangled
Yes I always love the tangled web being woven that catches the spider in his own sticky silky ignorance.... it is what my captors of love live to see beyond the weighty uniforms of their stealthy disguises.
......................
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "