Death Tells A Tale

Hands covered in gore,

Conscience needled with guilt,

A mind laden with sorrow,

A heart devoid of its beats.

 

Prey of foolish anger,

Hunted by swift fury,

No judgment, no consciousness,

Death carved another story.

 

Brandished weapon in hand,

Betrayal misconstrued by man,

All hell hath broke loose

Cannon fire in the head;

 

Sharp-edged knife,

Its teeth flashing proud,

Dwelling in the darkness,

Striking light to the ground.

 

Lifeless at his feet,

She lay in humble slumber,

Her blood caressing the floor,

The proud teeth sunk in her chest.

 

Like a bolt it all returned,

“Oh! What have I done?”

Lamentations in vain,

With sarcasm laughed pain.

 

The Reaper rubbed his hands,

Yet another soul to sweep,

The sweeper thought the same,

Yet another floor to sweep.

 

Daylight returned to the land,

He lay lifeless and bland,

Death had carved another tale,

Yet another gory tale.