I’m so cold

My hands, drenched 

In red, 

Not clay

Where my heart is tethered to

I tremble 

My rifle, my crutch

Its bore, empty

As my heart is, too 

And there I rest

In freedoms breast,

And now I die. 

Looking unto the dark

Of a forbidding sky

Rest they say!!

Tomorrow is another day!!

And you’ll be fine to join your company

But then I die

Politely -then I die

With no mercy

But no longer so, thirsty  

The Executioner:

Four seasons of winds

Held in one’s breath

Awaiting its time

To exhale all of its sense

And when it did

Old dull rivers did flow

Barren lands did grow

Calm seas pitched to and fro

Fish leapt unto the morrow where calm once held

Old lives, once thought gone

But now began to glow

So who am I?

To record such deeds

Of earthy movements set upon those in need

I am the man of rightful calling

Meant to kill all, with no remorse Before the morning

How’s that Edgar??

Two old books sat on a shelf

One said hey you, is this all there is? Is there nothing else?

All my pages, tattered,

My binding, weak and cracked

I don’t think anyone wants us anymore,

Just to let you know we’re two-old hacks!

Yes, the other did respond

It’s true what you say

Our time has sped away, and we’re left here to decay

But….

But- what, my ageless hard –copy- friend. But what is it you say?

We are still here

And reign on the top shelf too

But- below, on lower shelfs; our once supposed replacements strewn in piles of floppy discs,

Left helpless to revel themselves. But our pages still are set free.

You see!

Ah yes, I do see what you say.

So true, for all which has come after too

Cranky hard disks, and flash drives soon. I think I’m happier now, up on the top shelf, rubbing covers with the likes of you