April Poem-A-Day 6: The gift of vengeance

This is totally unfinished and rough. I found it difficult to stop writing because verses kept tumbling out. I decided to just put it up "as is" despite the flaws since I'm already behind on the poem-a-day thing. Wicked, wicked am I.


The gift of vengeance
flows from her,
a bright burning
touch of art.

Her invisible chord vibrates,
a tremor of Pathos’ lifeline,
and circumstances become
Fateful and malign.

Scales of justice
seek balance,
seek redress,
seed madness.

The fierce itch in him
defies all soothing,
leaves him a wild-eyed
monster for all to see.

Sometimes Vengeance
weaves on the loom
of Justice a pattern,
a cloak of destruction.

Gifted by dreams but
plagued by nightmares,
he can not escape
this certain retribution.

Unmasked tribulation
reaves his soul,
strips his comforts,
repossesses his power.

Her name is terrible and
she is the unflinching mirror
burning with truth,
consuming deception and lies.

Thus he becomes outcast,
banished from civil society,
beset by crows,
deranged by guilt.

Thus consumed from within,
he roils with conflict,
rots from core to skin,
suffers unceasing blight.

This wretch, this violator
of women and children
fragments into madness,
sinks deep into the abyss.

She pursues relentlessly and
nevermore does he find
shelter or refuge,
safe haven or peace.

For his actions and crimes,
he deserves no pity,
no succor and no friends:
loneliness shall consume him.

Her work finished,
he disintegrates,
within and without,
body and spirit.

Her gift is vengeance,
her craft is honed fine.

© 2009, php