Footsteps in crescendo heading in its direction
As they descend the wail of the beast is now but a whisper
A man known for taking what is not his own
Now feels the brunt of sharp stone
The darkness above which gave him comfort;betrayed him
Hands reach for him from all cardinal points
His screams cut the stagnant air like a well sharpened knife
But his screams;those screams,go unnoticed
The crescendo turns to diminuendo
The dirt is now saturated with red
Justice had been served
The justice of the jungle


-Sharifa Palmer