Shon-Kar

Forgive me, Father...
I had them in my hands,
Hands strong enough to squeeze
The life from their gangrenous throats
Till the pus of their breath ceases to befoul the wind.

Forgive me, Father...
The dagger rode my hip,
The dagger to slit their bellies and release

The noisome stench of their corruption
More swiftly than I cut the rope that hanged you.

Forgive me, Father...
A mere handful of months past
I would have flayed them living,
As they flayed me,
And laved my hands in their yet warm blood.

The eye that does not see
Gazes into the heart of the universe.
My hands fall without volition,
The dagger remains sheathed and unstained.

Forgive me, Father...
I have no pouchlings,
No young to bequeath your vengeance,
To redeem, in blood, the oath
That binds my heart to breaking.

flandau@gte.net

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