There he was standing before my mother.
Until he murdered her.
In cold blood, he grabbed a knife and stabbed her.
On this rainy, stormy night
My mother was murdered.
By a man who killed her without remorse.
It seemed like hate had filled his heart.
The hate that drove him to kill my mother.
The hate that I could not understand until now.
Until I walked over to him and grabbed the knife he'd used to kill my mother with.
And, I, too, stabbed him in cold blood.
No remorse in my heart.
Not until I'd realized what I had done.
And my eyes burst open.
'Just a dream' I thought.
'Just a dream' would've been correct.
If it weren't for the same man I saw murdering my mother as I had dreamed about.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryJust the place I put my poetry. I can do requests. This mostly just if I have a poetry in my head and I want to save it by putting it here.
