Here's another piece of poetry I wrote a while back. It's longer than the other so shazam! it gets its own post. Radical. Also for some reason I am unable to upload a photo for this. So no photo I guess. Again, radical. Not much else to say, so enjoy!
The one of distance and precision…
Stairs, stairs, stairs. More stairs, more stairs, more stairs...
To go up to the top story was what this one man dared.
With is encumbering briefcase in hand,
his target was waiting by popular demand.
He got to the top, and shuffled through his keys.
Finding the right one, he opened the door and felt the breeze.
It was a cool breeze, flowing through his hair as he got on one knee.
He unpacked his briefcase and began with a suppressed glee.
Piece by piece he assembled his beauty.
He kept her clean, as it was his duty.
Setting up post and like a ready viper,
he turned off the safety of his beloved sniper.
He looked through the scope to see the one he was here for.
His expert eyes caught him within the minute, and not a second more.
There was a whole city between them, but that wasn't the matter.
The professional was waiting for a particular pitter patter.
The rain was starting, and wasn't unforeseen.
But the sniper liked the rain, and they were almost like a team.
He had killed countless in the rain, where he could always remain calm.
It washed through his hands, relaxing his ever aching palms.
There was a great distance between the target and his round,
but that gap would soon be closed with a shot, to most, profound.
It'll be out of nowhere and into his head.
He'll fall on the ground, and before all, he'll be dead.
Murder is bad, but this was not the case.
This was mercy. The end of a race.
This man wanted to die, and so he will.
All of this just because he couldn't swallow a pill…
With a silenced shot the bullet soared.
It had range unbelievable and the deadliness of a sword.
All in due time the bullet hit it's mark.
The man had died alone in the park.
The sniper couldn't help but look at the corpse and think:
"He looks like the type of man I would take out for a drink"
This was his job, but he always for it hard to comprehend,
why exactly it was that people wanted their own end.
But the job was done and he could go home.
Then again this was a nice city so he might as well roam.
He packed up his things and begun down the stairs.
He did his job and he did it well, but no one knew of this event so to this day, no one cares.