There’s Always a Story

Cobblestones
slick with water
with algae
centuries
drop after drop
building a story
etched
into each brick.
Fog
stretching
reaching
’round corners
sick fingers
niches found
crannies poked
horror bore a new face
a new weapon.
Stalking
through the blackness
seeking
smelling
miserly men
contemptible cocotte
selling 
money making
even as pain
roars
blood lust 
crack of the whip…..
made within these sewers
bones turned to armor
stalk the death
brought me here
as I become the reaper.
To madness.
To desire.
To memories…..
barbed tight round
unable to breath
reaching 
begging
even as you die on your knees.
©Feb. 21/21
Picture via Pinterest 

Riding as One

One to wield the scythe
One to wield the spear
One to wield the shield
One to wield the shovel
One to wield the stiletto.
How far would they go?
How much would remain hidden?
Tales told
round tables
women of vengeance brew
take to the night
violence begotten
men
women
any who slipped
justice’s fingers
due to ineptness
indifference
corruption
hunted
taken down
taken out
like animals
that they are.
Death
avenging
stealth in the shadows
never knowing
where they might strike
nor how far they will go
in the cover up.
Never hit close to home
Never stand close to the hearth
Never allow yourself to be drawn through
you are here
a job to do
everything else
must blind self too.
They ride.
They hunt.
They fear no one.
They herald the arrival at the abyss.
They are the Judges.
They are the Juries.
They are the Executioners.
Together they stand.
Together they avenge.
Together they draw the guilty
to the bowels of hell…..
To be continued……
©Feb. 6/21
Picture via Pinterest