Captured in a cell, all alone and black,
In a square like cage, where oxygen it lacks,
No sunlight, no sky, no window to gaze,
With unease and hunger, all he sees is a haze.
Desperate, lonely, his body looks haggard,
For playing with human blood, his life is now shattered,
As he shuts his eyes, he can see it pressed,
The knife and its edges, across her chest.
On the bed with her daughter she cuddled and lay,
Their bedtime ritual, she read out a play,
The girl dozed in no time in her mother's lap,
In her drowsiness, she forgot to shut the flap.
The black-hooded figure shot sharp glances,
Gazing at people, seeking for nuances,
After hiding behind a dense bushy hedge,
He barged in and flicked open the pointed edge.
Slashing the knife as if cutting up meat,
She screamed in pain, and tugged at the sheets,
The little girl wailed as he made the final jab,
The weapon of metal, in her chest, smack dab.
Ten years have gone but the trauma remains,
As she closes her eyes, she sees the stains,
God stole her mum at a very young age,
She'll avenge that man, a fire burns with rage.
That dirt from his hands cannot be washed,
With blood and evil, they are now sloshed,
The day has arrived that tells his fate,
But the rope is ready, it is too late.
Yours poetically,
The Literary Artisan 💖
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