The whistle is faint, only a buzz, if a midsummer bee
Hot beats the sun upon an untamed forearm, exhale salt and pollute the air
Does no sparkle exist behind those blue irises? Nowhere to be optimistic?
An unkempt mane rolls in waves like a history lesson
And forward pointing toes see no direction

Crippled stone gives way to broken souls, destroyed in a fit of revenge
Their beautiful bloom now only a ****-
Pull from the clay and expose its roots
Blood stained hands caress wandering eyes, forcefully stitched open
Choke on remorse, and cut from your mouth a guilty tongue
A gift given, now an act of the Devil...... a misused talent
Silence the screams, a thousand grievous hearts spit hatred
One being, lost in shadow, a unnoticed blade
Can the world now continue, purged of a merciless man?
Shall the repetitious cycle begin again?
Summon themselves a king, for he is surely more suitable