Poem -

MURDER SHE DIDN'T WRITE

MURDER SHE DIDN'T WRITE

It was not in the script - I could not die,
in fact, to avoid everything, I just flew by;
I lost the plot but lived on more likely than not,
there had to be an ending but then I forgot.

They hung him up and the blood drained out,
grinned and played dice - didn't hear him shout,
no one would ever punish them for their crime,
carrying out instructions, one prophet at a time.

Lightning crackled down from the blackened sky,
the Earth trembled for one not supposed to die,
there was to be no closure, never realized,
on the last page, the reader would not be surprised.

If you kill someone - how do you forget the play,
with difficulty, but then I do it every day.

 

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