And then there were four,
To judge, to score.
My deeds, my actions,
My thieves, my sanctions.
The first, my hate,
That charred and wretched state.
A half burned corpse of fate,
She said, let him delay.
Then my love, my sun,
That memory of love.
A wretched ghostly soul,
They said, let him delay.
Another will come,
Another to say.
Then came many,
Grateful, with pennies,
Amalgamated into one,
Those who saved, had come.
And yet they said,
Let him delay,
For the last must judge,
This penance, your son.
And at last dropped a noose,
Blue eyes stared in twos,
And as the bile flowed from his lips,
He smiled, and flee adrift,
Ripping the worlds,
And letting me through,
To where he could never go,
He, who I killed.
YOU ARE READING
Often confusing
PoetrySecond part to a muses musings because wattpad has a story limit. . . I mean an enthralling book of stories
