I will carry poetry from your death and realise once more the faith held in hope.
I will write soliloquies to behold what you once were and the joyous necessity that is your end.
I would tear the cooled coils of your innards into the air to spell out your sin.
Because your sin is the sin of many a man before and many a man since,
the misplaced ideal of your character,
rotted by the willingness of a single act too often repeated
upon the fresh and unsuspecting or those sadly mistaken to hope for better.
I would make a crown of your head and place it on a post before my soul as a warning hereafter.
Where many have wronged,
there falls a final sinner whose ego is no match for the furies long lain in wait within me since I was no more than a child.
Where many have wronged
you are the final attempt at the quivering wanton and feeble victory of man and you will forever be a reminder of heir failure.
So long ago the seeds were sown that you are now merely a speck within a forest well fed and made wild by the misdeed of you and your unkind kind.
So I will lay you to rest with a guiltless smile and look forward to those of your kind who will follow you to the ground.
And they will follow.
