Time Of The Assassin

A story within a poem narrative

[Prologue]

The aim is set, the gun is cocked
The bullet ready to be shot
The steady finger pulls the trigger
And the bullet leaves the silencer
The cordite from the gun smelling like murder

[Life Of Brian]

He was a man of simple pleasures
With a loving wife and doting children
Sincere was he and accustomed to pain
Worked day and night, like a madman
He earned by his sweat, mingled with blood and tears
Asked for nobody's help and had no fear

His wife took ill and looked strangely white
The doctors said it was consumption
And that she had a perniciously anemic condition
The cost was high but he labored on
Hoping to make ends meet and save her life
But the more he worked the dearer she cost
Until his pride faltered and so did his gumption

It was a rainy day and white thunder bellowed
The skies seemed angry for reasons unbeknownst
But Brian stood at the cemetery, his head bowed
As his children surrounded him, subdued
Too proud to cry and let out his pain
As the coffin was buried amidst incessant rain

Life then took a turn for better or for worse
Brian became a killer without fear or remorse
Took many a life, to avenge his wife
Every cold blooded kill easing his pain
Completed many assignments with elan
And became the best of the hit men

[Epilogue]

The cavalcade passes by, without a hue and cry
As Brian realizes of being double-crossed
And of his past catching up with him again
(Duped then by fate and now by men)
As he looks up to see the sniper take his aim
Memories of his wife pass him by as do of his children
And he closes his eyes as the fire burns his brain
Whispers a last goodbye as he lets go of the pain

Author's Note

Wanted to be a storyteller but am a poet...So you have this...:)

Reviews

[.]

. ha ha ! ... and this is just beautiful ... a fabulous blending of styles ... for me, you celebrate brevity and really well ... what an amazingly poignant tale this is ... it's a rare manifestation of love ... and also not rare ... as we know that the motivation for crime is often some sort of adversity ... personally, i have not known this intense a love but what i feel for my absconding soul mate does enrage me sometimes enough to want to unleash havoc ... but then something else takes over ... i realize that both he and i are survivors of severe child abuse ... he more severe than i ... and if he doesn't get it even after he sees his poems in the anthology ... then the larger cause i'll be fighting for ... is relief for the adult survivors of severe child abuse ... perhaps because once i do my tandava in rage (and it's usually a poem) ... then the rage goes away ... and i'm left with compassion ... yet ... when i read this poem ... i am overwhelmed because it helps me realize that all human beings are vulnerable ... and somehow ... if with my best buddy ... em's help ... i can overcome being vulnerable ... then there are others who have a need for me ... and my life is justified ... and even touching meaningful ... thank you for this, sid ... absolutely loved it ...

[Robin]

this is great story telling , Human nature as it slips into the shadows of darkness , good work !

[An owl on the moon]

A richly woven story in poetic form, flowing with a lifetime of words... Darkly screams to be heard... Such a powerful account.

[Geralyn Miller]

Good story in a nice tiight form.
Just for your knowledge, I have interviewed about a doxen professional hit men and one hit woman; they are ice cold, thinking no more of killing humans than the average person would think of killing a cockroach. They are very eerie, creepy people to be around. Only the woman had anyone in her life; the men were pure loners.