Captain America Poetry (Anything Marvel related, really.)

Death Was Too Good to Him

A poem about Alexander Pierce in relation to how he died. (2 shots to the chest, dead within a minute).

Death was too good to him,

it snatched him from this earth 

in the space of a breath, 

in the beat of a tortured heart, 

in the blink of a bruised eye– 

Death should have bided it’s time, 

hounded him from the shadows, 

slunk under his skin and 

around this throat,

squeezing and turning his blood 

to stone.

Death should’ve drowned

him in the tears of the Soldier

he had created,

it should have torn him apart

from inside out like he’d 

done time and again 

to the man who no longer

knows his name, and is

trapped beneath an amber panel

that bars the sunlight from smothering his soul

like the darkness had done for far too long.

Death should have stalked him to the grave 

and ripped him from the warmth of the earth, 

because he is ill suited for eternal rest– 

immortal and clawing at the lid of his coffin 

with his sins booming in his ears,

is the only ‘farewell’ he deserves.