Finally ready,
She takes her hands off her eyes,
And stands up, stand tall.

Her black silk shirt is weightless;
the floor, cold beneath bare feet

the stone is worn smooth and sleek,
but splinters stick to her sole

She walks with full confidence,
Hiding the consuming fear.

By the oak tree stump
An axe is being sharpened

Made for her light build,
Designed to be swung just once.

The sacrifice sits
Bound, gagged, blindfolded, waiting.
It stirs, tries to speak.

Horror consumes her
as she sees the victim’s face.
Inhuman. Strange. Wrong.

Features swim around its face,
Shimmer like sun on water
She must to kill it.

Something deep within call out:
Erase this wrongness.

Fingers wrap around the axe.
She swings it, testing its weight.
She feels it in her:

The human urge to murder,
To kill the unknown.

She takes short, quick, steps forward.
She raises the axe up high.

Posted in 2013-04-08 to 2013-04-21 - Renga | Comments Off

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