•
ever hissing ever hissing
the smooth slithered snake
stealthily winds its slender self
to slowly settle in the shadows
to set its searching sights
on its unsuspecting prey
an ever patient sentry
coiled to seize its precious prize
with surety of purpose
this silent sleek assassin
will strike swift and certain
never missing never missing
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
the graceful glide
engulfed by the spire
in a roar of golden orange
horribly beautiful
perversely mesmerizing
obscene
devastating images
torrents of humanity
raining down
desperation their only escape
masses of humanity
racing
to outrun the unbelievable
praying
to be delivered from the inconceivable
traumatic images
shrines of free commerce
consumed
by the unbearable weight
of their fragile significance
plummeting to earth
in a cloud of self-destruction
heartbreaking images
screaming
dazed
terrified souls
consumed
by the unbearable weight of the moment
staggering onward
to outdistance the surging roll
of all-engulfing
pulverized aftermath
courageous images
battered
determined
tireless heroes
those who were called
who served unselfishly
some
who gave the ultimate service
haunting images
color
gender
ethnicity
wiped away
from the ashen-grey faces
of the traumatized throngs
now just masks of calamity
all made equal
by horror and grief
one nation
under siege
inconsolable
with tragedy and sorrow
for all
unforgettable images
burned into our hearts
•
I’m the sad little clown with the frowning face
the round red nose and the great big tear
this meek facade and silly sham
belie the horror that I engineer
life’s dealt me cold my hand is slack
not one queen no king nor ace
so violence now dwells in me
masked behind my woeful face
no one suspects the evil soul
that festers deep in this funny fool
they know not the monster here
my gentle sheen conceals the cruel
they don’t realize a broken heart
a ruined life makes one quite mad
they simply see the pitiful
the painted face that looks so sad
the shaggy coat the baggy pants
the red suspenders the big white glove
they do not know it hides the hand
that choked the life from the one they love
town after town state after state
bodies mount in the circus’ wake
in the dead of night at the dark of moon
in frenzied fever each life I take
each beautiful each innocent
each unaware that they would die
there will be more on the road ahead
one for every tear you made me cry
when the circus comes and the tents go up
the people cheer in each sleepy town
because the poor fools just don’t know
who’s really come is the killer clown
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
_____________________
for two more tales of murder written in dark rhyme click “more”
•
that’s the thing about ruts
the longer we remain bogged
the harder it is to escape
•
stopping is no option
to lose the way
is to keep going
keep moving forward
lest one be rutted in uncertainty
rigid with the rigor of fear
bogged down in despair
paralyzed
stalled in hopelessness
the giving in
the giving up
caught in anguish
the rot that sets
with the loss of wonder
when grip lets go of dreams
arthritic loss of faith
debilitates the soul
cripples the manifest light
that shines forth
at the leap into dark unknown
into the sacred mystery
frozen is the doubting man
withered in a worried cage
terrified of the wrong step
of the journey all in
of daring the way unmarked
thus
he bleeds out the color of life
to become cold and grey
a petrified husk
of brittle remorse
mired in regret
for never having shone so brightly
as to blind the eyes of death
stopping is no option
• • •
rob kistner © 2011
• linked at Magpie Tales