Category: Writers Block
My dearest conscience:
Humbled I stand.
A plea for utter solace,
born of your ever-guiding hand.
Angels dying,
the clashing steel ringing,
I led the horde,
sought to ever quell their bless'd singing.
Swords borne on shoulders,
eyes of reddest fire,
hissing arks of peril,
for these doomed, there is no hero's pyre.
As day adjourned,
the last one fell,
twas only then,
in retrospect did I dwell.
Morning beckoned,
whilst camp was breaking,
I came upon,
one who had escaped the slaying.
He was a child,
in infancy,
he could not walk,
nor could he speak.
Curse'd hands,
by which he died,
never a scream,
nor did he cry.
Thence did I weep,
among the trees,
for by my men,
such an action could not be seen.
Oh dear, dear conscience:
again I've killed.
Despite the vows,
blood of the innocent has been spilled.
One dreary morning,
whose sun I could not see,
I harkened of the plight,
of a well-dressed man, for a fee.
He said unto me:
"Please do this deed".
And I asked him:
"Where, when, and who is she?"
"She's but a lover,"
the man replied.
"The corner building,
you'll find her there, just past nine."
Night abated,
from bed I stood,
crafted my raiment,
camouflage, with dark-hued hood.
Slipped from my dwelling,
consummated search,
for edifice of red brick,
next of the church.
Finding the structure,
I stepped inside,
thoughts of murder,
beset my mind.
I saw a figure,
and drew the gun,
a shot rang out,
and the deed was done.
She screamed once,
with a note of dread,
thence toppled sideways,
drilled through the head.
There did I kneel,
in silent prayer,
staring upon her,
a maiden so fair.
To home I hastened,
collecting cash,
matches withdrawn,
demon's money fast became ash.
Dear Conscience:
I take not your heed.
And when alone,
the faces I see.
Some ravaged,
others incomplete,
yet I weep,
for each bless'd memory.
Silent remorse,
a killer's course,
yet some day,
lady life I shall divorce.
Maybe then,
a righted ship,
speaking words,
that you'll hear pass my lips.
But until that day,
I'll simply plea:
"Oh dear, dear conscience!
Can you help me?"
Jim
That was good, thanks for posting it.
Bob
oh wow. Jim, that was extremely well done, or maybe it just struck a chord in me. I dunno. I didn't know you could write like that. post more!
"But this ain't about me and this ain't about you
Or the good and the bad times we've both been through
When the lines between brothers and justice have changed
You do what you've gotta cause you can't walk away
Blood money, that's what I call it
'Cause money for blood ain't no fair exchange
Blood money
Bought and then sold you
But your conscience is all you can take to your grave"
Bon Jovi, blood money.
your writing is interesting, an interesting topic.
Nice work.