Tuesday, March 8, 2011

These Last Days


The moon casts a spell
Over the barren earth,
Turning all the surfaces
Into a poor man's silver,
Softening the edges
Of the vulgar landscape
And hiding all the attrocities
Into heavy, dark shadows.

I sit under said moon
On the roof top of my home,
Rifle in hand,
Eyes searching,
Ears listening for the slightest sound.
I am waiting.
It's night 18.

I have about three days worth of food,
Then I have three more days
Before hunger consumes me.
I rather be consumed by hunger
Than by them,
But neither will consume me.
The last bullet in my pistol
Already has my name.

These last days
Are not for my physical survival,
These last days
Are for me to enjoy
All the things I neglected
When I had my whole life ahead of me.

I watched the sun rise,
Felt the breeze cool my skin,
I sat in the moonlight
Staring at the stars,
Oh so many stars,
I tasted raindrops
As it washed my face,
I inhaled the scent of
Grass, flowers, nature.

It was only when
My life was near it's end
That I realise what is important,
Who was important
And why they all were important.
As I sit here,
I am at peace,
I am prepared to die
On my terms.

But not tonight.
Tonight, I will kill as many
Of them as I can.
Tonight, I live,
Tonight, they die.

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