by Wilbur Kookmeyer » Thu Aug 09, 2007 10:27 pm
Hardly yokel crap here 47....
Killer
Predatory by nature.
Natural Killer.
My eyes are set forward for a reason.
There is no need to see behind me.
I shall not know the primal fear.
I never have.
The weak run before me,
on slick grasses.
Cordite has a smell to it.
It lingers in the air about you after pulling the trigger.
I shot once,
and then flowed like a ghost on the wind.
Through the trees,
and grasping undergrowth.
He laid there breathing his
last breath.
I put my hand upon his throat.
Felt his life give way.
The weak run before me.
They are weaker than he.
I
am weaker than he.
Yet I
slayed him kindly.
I see the those around me
that deserve to be trampled.
The weak are not so
of physical, but of heart.
Of ethics.
Of mind.
But never brag of strength,
for your own weakness will be known.
They fear me at times.
I have to admit the rush to it.
But it is not MY fault
that they run before me.
I stalk this earth,
with mediocre intentions.
But my heart,
knows I am a killer.
Your electric car runs on coal. Think about it....