Poetry

I am the Thief

I am the thief

Spreading nothing but grief

I'm the king of mischief

I once had a souk

Now all frozen and cold

By who ever told

So it was foretold

By someone very old

That you would come and take my beggars gold

People want me dead or dying

Screaming or crying

With no silver lining

With no remorse

Just a dying corpse

Killed

With such brutal force

I was dead

Without a head

Stripped clean

By a guillotine

My head rolled away

Down a hill

Hopefully to better days

There is no grief

For there is no more thief