3A saint's mumbling a little prayer
Patience please, let him do what he will
As he sees Mommy hang from the window sill.
She was a nice lady, pure and good
Tried hard to act like a lady should
She let me, She never even cried
Yet to my question She had replied,
Something wicked that made me sad
Something that made me real real mad.
Out to the fountains, out into the blue
It was time to claim for what was due
He had less pride while He was pleading
Receding, Daddy couldn't stand the bleeding
Peaceful dead eyes saw through the water
At the sneer of His lovely daughter.
Through the foul halls, in the marriage bed
One kiss before I shot Him in the head
Then I dragged the body down the stairs
Of this wealth, He had wanted His share
I was still a child when we engaged
That taken away made me first outraged
Now, like them, I have it in my soul
In their silence was their control.
I spared the baby, the last of kin
Taking one innocent is a mortal sin
Of course I'll still be going to hell
Along with the evil to I rebelled.
As the saint prayed, I prayed for my brother
Would find his way, instead of one after another
The man screamed out all those holy quotes
Until like Daddy, I slit his throat.
- LW 7.22.02
This poem is based on a scary dream I had, and NOT a personal wish or anything psychotic like that. The predatory-like narrator is watching 'the saint' from the shadows while he investigates through the empty estate, while thinking of prior events.